Endurance is my master’s pleasure for a carnival of nasty delights. My submission almost defies life. To submit is to ignore that voice inside your head that is urging you to run out of the room. And it takes all my strength not to run.
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There’s certain things. I like certain things. I’m not supposed to, but I do. I like to pretend I’m a little girl. And there’s other things I like to pretend too, about men and about them wanting me in a way that’s wrong. Everybody says it’s wrong. But I like it. My boyfriend knows the way I like to play at being a little girl. So he bought me a T-shirt that says kittie on it. And he watches me from his car, waiting until I’m done with class. Sometimes he follows me home. I see him other times too. Watching.
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A dark beauty undresses herself in an amazying display of flexibility. Her clothes come off as she magicly unzips her pants. He tickles her foot as she sits spread eagle on the floor the while a sturdy metal spreader bar is wedged between her legs. Her tits dangle in front of her and she thinks “wow, piece of cake” until a yellow cloth is stuffed in her full mouth. The gag is secured with tape around her head and straight black hair. He fondles her jiggly tits. Mr pogo gets a turn at her juicy wet pussy, fucking her unforgivingly.
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My hands were secured behind me and I was placed in the box with my head protruding through the top. I saw the plastic bubble shaped cover that Pd was going to put over my head, and that was when the nervousness started. Hmmm, I thought, there isn’t much room in that cover at all for the bugs to run around…they’re going to be near my head no matter what.
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I sometimes like to flaunt my girl-ness. My pleated skirt bounces as I walk, swinging and swaying and hinting just enough at what lays beneath. I flaunt my strength, flexing my girl-muscles, the control I imagine I have on the people that I walk past. I approach the building that is now so familiar to me, waiting for the elevator that always takes forever to arrive– I never saw what hit me.
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Her soft flesh is clay to be molded by his skillful hands. Her cries are music to his ears. Her torture is his desire. And his pleasure is her pain. So he covers her pretty, young face in rubber hoods and wraps ropes tight around her limbs. He lifts her to his lap, pulls her close to tug at her stiff nipples and fondle her tenderized cunt. Then he makes her scream, whip lashing hard against glossy, firm skin, breasts bouncing, faceless head shaking hysterically.
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My dreams curdle the night, the heavy, wet November night. Outside, the rustle of corn in the fields, silage of dreams, of a man’s want. And inside, my boner poking up against the sheet. Lightening far off, breaking out the night. The whispering of the house, conversations of ghosts. And the howls. That pack of dogs is come sniffing around the barn again. They always know when I got me another girl. I got me two of them a couple days ago, their pussies ripe and glittery-wet like jewels, nipples as tight and hard as nuggets, cold enough to ripple the skin. November’s got a chill around these parts. When a girl shivers it bones me up fat and hard, strong enough to squirt…
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Bound and half-strangled, 912 stews in a sexual smog. She’s fucked, spanked, flogged, ass-fucked, and whipped in this dark rape fantasy. 912 at her best, drenched with sexual want. She dangles by her neck, already dreamy, half-gone. Her dress is filmy. You see everything. And she is filmy, transparent, as though she’s draining off slowly, and you’re drinking her, taking your time. You pull the rope tighter, so that it digs into her throat. You cover her nose and mouth. She fights for air. Dropping her to the floor, you drag her by the hair, cowing her with a cattle prod. A tray with condoms, dildo, ass plug, and lube is set beside her. She’s forced to plug herself even though she’s shackled. It’s all for you, for your enjoyment. She fucks herself. She’s bent over a stool and spanked. Tears fall. Her mouth is stuffed and taped. She’s spanked harder.
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John never did get it. The sexual stuff, I mean. Like how I wanted him to tie me up. How I wanted to be helpless. I wanted him to use me, use my “holes”, all of them, for his gratification. Put anything you want inside of me, I said to him. Treat me dirty. When we first got married, he tried a few things with me. But then he got disgusted, saying I was crazy. A pervert. John has no idea what I’m doing this weekend. He’s gone for three days on a business trip. I’m on the train to New York.
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The choice was hers. He asked flat out: would she accept his ties, his tortures? And she did, signed herself away. Just one weekend – how bad could it be? He places a collar on her neck, orders her to undress. Hands cuffed, she struggles to wriggle out of her jeans. Kneeling, she presents her smooth bare ass. He removes her shirt and binds her arms. Willingly, she submits as the ropes pinch harshly into her skin.
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Dairy available here.
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