Corset HNT

Farmers Market Thursdays

Warm sun on my skin, cool breeze caressing my hair.
Good company, conversations about food, sex, and other sensual pleasures.

I can smell fresh bread, cheese, peaches, and the earthy tone of vegetables on the back of my tongue, and the lingering aroma of honey in my mouth.

I returned to work reluctantly, but with joy in my steps.

Morning Pleasure

Morning. Waking is slow, hazy, full of snoozes and press of naked warmth.
Grey dawnlight slowly filling the room, and the curl of your body against mine.
Skin to skin, back to beating heart, breasts lying heavily on your arm, drowsy half-hard heat against my ass. I am warm and safe and loved in this nest of pillows and high-thread count sheets, down comforter over me and your body tight to mine.

I almost don't remember it happening, it seems only natural, only normal, for your arm to wrap around the curve of my waist, stretch between my breasts, press into my sternum, and your fingers to wrap around my throat gently. It seems only natural, only right, for your hand to find the base of my throat and squeeze a little. And of course, it is only natural that my breath escapes in a rushing low moan, and my entire body arches back into you. It is only right that my legs part, ass grinding into you in reflexive plea.

I love this feeling- the heat of your body against mine, the langorous hum of my arousal infiltrating muscle and vein and wire-tight nerves. When your cock hardens against me, it's simple reflex to roll my hips against you, positioning you against my already-wet slit. When your hand tightens in my throat, it's automatic for mine to find the bedstead and cling there as though tied. And when your teeth find the back of my neck, there is little that could stop me from pressing back into you and pulling you inside of me hungrily.

Oh, I know that we will be running late soon, know that we could be interrupted any moment by a waking child, know that the slow easing of darkness presages a frantic morning... but right this moment, with your teeth in my skin and your fingers pressed into my throat, I cannot bring myself to care. Nothing in the world is as important right this moment as the fuzzing of my brain, the brief temporary quiet in my too-busy mind. Nothing in the world is as important right now as the slow slippery slide down the rabbit-hole into peaceful submission.

And then I am stretched tight around you, back arched away, connected only at your cock deep inside me and your hand wrapped around my throat. Every stroke seems to reach deeper like this, and I am wetter than I have any idea how I’ve managed so early in the morning, I who dislikes morning sex. But the slickness between my thighs gives lie to my usual disdain for it and my panting moans are hardly noises of contempt or impatience.
When you flip me onto my stomach, thighs tight against you and ass pressed into your hips, my entire body surrenders into yours. This position, physically comfortable yet completely helpless, is my hands-down favorite. I love the depth you reach inside of me, the inability to escape your hands, your body, your searching mouth and biting teeth, your cock heavy and full inside of me. I love the helplessness, love the angle, love the sensation of you filling me against my tightened pussy.

...and then, without warning, you are gone from me and there is only the lingering memory of your teeth in my skin as you whisper in my ear that you will finish this tonight, and far less gently.

Real Life Stuff

That was taken last Saturday. The silver car is my Norah. She is totalled. It's been a hell of a week. Rush and I spent all of last weekend car-shopping with limited results. I miss my girl a lot, but am deeply grateful for her service, and her protection of my family.
We are all okay- Rush's elbow seems to have been re-injured a bit, Bonkers is a little clingier than usual (but we mostly managed to convince him that it was all a very exciting game), and I am banged up bot all right. It was entirely the other driver's fault (she turned in front of us to get into the parking lot the pictures was taken from), so we aren't being penalized for it or anything.

Anyway... that's where the real life junk is right now.

Beyond that...

We separated from Akasha a couple of months ago, and things betwen Rush and I improved significantly almost immediately. I am semi-dating a couple of people, but have a distinct tendency to fall for people who are unsuitable in some way.
I'm leaning far more heavily toward submissive than dominant these days, and consequently have been looking along those lines... even harder than looking for a submissive, which I never would have believed, but given that I don't want a submissive D/s relationship so much as I want someone I can play with in a submissive headspace... well, therein lies the dilemna.

Work is still pretty wonderful- I love working in an office full of people almost as weird as me, in various ways.
Bonkers is growing like a damned weed, and climbing absolutely everything he can get within 10' of. If I know you personally, drop me a line and I'll send you some pictures.

Friday Night

Curled at your feet, the sense of comfort and safety is enough to allow some of the previous week's stress to slowly fade. Your hand in my hair, awareness of the rest of the world fading away like the tide retreating under the moon. Soft skin over hard muscle, your thigh beneath my cheek. Gentle weight of your tumescent cock against my face.
I can hear the TV in the background: Irish accents, gunshots, and a woman's voice. I can't bring myself to care. I can't bring myself to notice anything except the softness of the fleece beneath my knees, the weight of your hand in my hair, and the taste of your cock just outside of the reach of my lips.

The warmth of kisses, nibbles, and nips to your groin. Not touching your cock, not yet. Slow sucking kisses to your balls, rolling them gently around in my mouth. Leisurely toying with you; there is no hurry tonight. Nuzzling your cock, enjoying the heat and half-hardness against my face. Gentle nips to the crease of hip and groin, slow licking strokes to your perineum.
It is a slow, pleasant eternity before I take your cock into my mouth, suck you in slowly. Even this is gentle, leisurely. We have all the time in the world tonight, and I am tired and more interested in this focus on you without haste or urgency.

Your kilt is up around your hips now, my chemise brushed aside in your eagerness to toy with my wet pussy. You know what sucking you does to me, know the wetness you can expect without having ever touched me.  Your fingers are eager against me, skimming across my outer lips until I moan and rock my hips in wordless plea. Fingertips barely touch me as my inner lips part for you, allowing you easy access to my slippery center and coating your fingers with my arousal. A single hard press and your fingers are inside me, stretching me, and I am arching into you and screaming, low and wordless, offering myself, begging for more. When your fingers stroke that spot in me, my knees go weak, and I fall forward onto the table, only braced arms catching me in time. The sudden loss of you inside of me pulls me to my feet, whimpering inarticulately and starting to turn to you in confusion and loss but then your hand is in front of my face, fingers sticky with the scent of me and I am licking them eagerly, dragging your fingers into my mouth and sucking them clean with something close to desperation.

Bent back over, your hand between my shoulderblades a silent command as you enter me and I am writhing, whimpering, trying to be still but stretched so full and aching with it. Arched like this, your every stroke strikes my cervix and it hurts but with your hand pressing me into the table and your legs forcing mine open wider I almost don't care; I just want to please you.
Your hips are rough against mine, and I am losing my balance on my toes, arched to keep you inside of me. But every time I start to fall forward your hands are on my hips, dragging me back relentlessly and I am opening to you, arching into you until you drag me back... you sprawled on the couch and my body bent backwards over you. Your hand on my throat, on my breast, voice rough as you whisper into my ear to fuck you, please you, and my hips moving desperately to obey as I am stretched helpless and open to you. The utter helplessness of it drags me further under, and the burn in my thighs, growing soreness in my pussy: they are irrelevant against your pleasure and this delicious satisfaction of being completely used.

Finally, I am on my knees again, choking on you and my arousal is running down my thigh as I suck you. My hand is tight to my lips and my teeth are cutting into them, but it doesn't matter against the sounds that you're making. Somewhere far off, I know that I'll regret this in the morning, that I'll be sore, but I don't care right now when your hand is in my hand, urging me deeper and faster until I am choking on you with every stroke, deep throating you as often as I am able. With my free hand toying with your balls and stroking your perineum, I can feel you tightening, readying, and I am hungry for you. Speeding my own pace and deepening every stroke until my throat burns and my neck aches, I finally feel you arch into me and press me furhter down until my only choices are to swallow or choke and I swallow you eagerly, pressing myself as hard onto you as I can to simulate the last, deep stroke inside me as you cum.

Finally, I feel you start to come down, and with a secret smile, I stroke my tongue over your frenulum gently, softly, teasing the last shuddering ripples of pleasure from your orgasm before laying my head on your thigh and looking up at you with teasing innocence. "Feel better, Sir?"

Starting HNTS again?

WickedKitten is absolutely amazing.

I Want.

I am hyper and bouncy today, and I want to tease you.

I want to stretch you out and tie you down and make you helpless beneath me.
I want to drag my body down yours until your eyes go wide and sapphire dark. I want you to feel the tips of my breasts against the skin of your chest, want to trace my nipples across your face while you writhe and strain and beg wordlessly beneath me.

I want to make you helpless.

I want you to arch against the ropes and try to reach me while I laugh and nip at your open mouth.
I want to slide your lips against my own and suckle them gently, then nip you and giggle at your flinch. I want to breathe along your cheek until you shiver and run my fingertips along your jaw and down your throat. I want to wrap my hand around your neck, closing it until you fight me instinctively. I want to press my fingers in until your face goes tingly from the blood backed up in your brain.

I want to make you fear me for a moment.

I want you to see the giggling madness behind my eyes; the part of me that doesn't care if you're wounded at the end of my fun, the part that will lick your blood of of my fingers with something like glee.
I want to watch you flinch when I close my teeth on your windpipe, want you to remember the strength of the human jaw from those anatomy classes so long ago. I want you to taste the copper of fear on the back of your tongue while I revel in the memory of blood.

I want to make you want me.

I want to ride you, want to feel you inside of me whle you writhe in helpless lust beneath me, merciless against my whims. I want to roll my hips against you in a belly dancer's  tease, dragging you almost outside of  me and then rolling back down until you bottom out and fill me up. I want to move against you, teasing and torturing and opening myself for you. I want to taste your sweat on my skin, and I want to lean down and close my teeth in your throat as you fuck me.

A Lunatic Fear

She was the color of sand on the floor of the desert. Her eyes caught moonlight and held it. Somewhere far away, he tried to tell her there was no time and it wasn't safe. He thought he spoke, but he couldn't be sure. The skin of her legs was against his and there was no barrier left between them. She had fire in her skin and the moon in her eyes. She was close enough for him to breathe into her lungs, and the moon washed through her to him, and he could no longer instruct his hands not to pull her down to his mouth.
Here, he said to her, to himself. Here...
He told himself clearly and firmly that he must not. Not yet. Not here, not this way, with the moon in them both. But it felt so good and he would rather drown in her eyes, be burned by her skin than fade into... despair, a shadow of a shadow of fear. Her eyes could swallow him right here. Her eyes and her hand, and he would be content.
Then his mouth was against hers and hers warm as light on his and she was pressing herself into him, her desire an animal with wings that carried them both over the edge of the abyss they'd skirted for so long. He drank from her, drank from the source of energy that belonged specifically to her and nobody else in all the universe.
-A Lunatic Fear
B.A. Chepaitis

Memory

Scent of you on my skin, catching me off-guard with a smile and knot of arousal as I attempt to fall asleep.

Weight of you against me, sweat on your face and the flickering amusing thought to lick it away.

Hot breath against the curve of my back and buttocks, paired with the pressure of your hands on my skin.

Fullness of you inside me, hand tightening in my hair until I reflexively arch and moan against you.

Brush of fingertips down my spine, teasing hints at what's to come until I shiver against your hands.

Taste of myself on your cock and soreness between my legs.

Pressure in my hair, on my head, forcing me down onto you until I choke and moan and grow wet again.

Sensation of your mouth on me, so close to too much and so deliciously right. Depth of your fingers in me, stroking me to the screaming point.

Burn of my thighs as I ride you, contentment on your face as I move over you, taste of your skin on my lips.

Squeeze of your hand on my throat and burn of your teeth in my breast as I writhe and cum against you.



Today, brief hints of your scent on my skin and residual desire building again for the taste of you.

Vanilla Date

People kiss without teeth, without biting.
How does that work?

I'm so confused.

Dreams

Your face across the table from mine, canines flashing as you smile. Red wine glass in your hand, liquid the color of blood flashing ruby-lit across your hand. Cruelty and promise in your eyes. Candlelight golden across your skin.
Shiver across mine. Your smile deepening as you note my chillbumps in the warm room.

In the car. I am driving, too much wine in your system to give you the keys. Dangerous promises in your posture; relaxed predatory recline across from me.
Your voice hoarse, a low command. "Open your legs as you drive." I obey without thought or question, only realizing a moment later that I've done so. My skirt rides up, but for once I'm thankful for my semi-modesty, and the fact that this jean skirt doesn't ride up easily. I wonder if you'll reach over, touch me where my thighs part for you as I drive. Half of me hopes you do, half of me fears wrecking the car.
The briefest skim of your fingers across my exposed skin as I pull into the driveway is enough, bringing the last half hour's arousal and anticipation into a singlequick gasp torn from my throat.

Later. Upstairs. You standing before me. Predatory smile activating the deepest prey centers in my brain, memories of times when humans still skittered about the trees in desperate attempts to avoid predators. Shivering, almost touching you. Heat so close it tightens my breasts, hardens my nipples. Your hands a slow skim down my arms, teasing hints at the heat of your body. I want to lean forward, close that blatantly artificial distance, but the evil in your smile roots me in place, afraid to move.

Flashes now:
Your hands skimming up my legs, thumbs brushing the center of me with a single teasing stroke before retreating again.
Your hand flat across my belly, pinning me down.
Your teeth in my throat, pleasurepainpleasurepain.
Hand around my breast, low moan dragged from my throat.
Fingers delicately pinching one small nipple, and my gasping scream.
Your laugh, a throaty, growling chuckle.
Your hand in the center of my chest, weight applied forcing me down, forcing me still, forcing air from my lungs until the weight and size of you controls even the flow of oxygen into my body.
Moaning whimper, hands grasping for you but blocked.
Flash of memory: your tie slipping froun around your neck. Silver and blue and silky tight around my wrists.

Teasing touches to the center of me, sharp pleading gasps, aching desperation and need for you...

And then, awakeness. A single pleading whimper before I slipped back into sleep... and far less pleasant dreams.

Easy steps through the trees.
Glimpses of you like teasing flashes of a woman's bare skin.
You're well ahead of me, but it doens't matter.
The trail you leave is easily followed- an invitation to a predator.
I know this game, this 'go away closer', know the temptation and the tease of it.

I know what you're trying to do as our beasts stalk one another in the wild while the human sides keep a reluctant rein in the wider world.
I know your beast better than you do, know my own as you cannot yet.

So I'll play this game of 'stalk and pounce' and let you think you'll win. Let you think the man will keep rein on the beast.

But the predator is stalking you, darling, through thre wilds of our minds.

Some days I badly miss the freedom to indulge in self-destructive behavior.

That is all.

Escape

Hurting. Aching. Raw fear mixing with fury I don't know how to ease, how to sublimate, how to turn into something constructive. The predator paces the cage in my mind, bars slammed shut before she does something the human will regret later. She wants out, wants to escape this anger and confusion. She wants to run to someplace safe and clean, where the stifling blanket of frustration isn't choking us, where the tension isn't thick enough to cut with only the sharpest of word-knives.

We want to escape. We want quiet, peace, the sense of being loved without anger beneath every word. We want the earth beneath bare feet and the warmth of loving arms around us. We want comfort and a safe place to scream out the pain. We want for it to be okay to be hurting, without anger or questioning why. We want to be allowed to miss the freedom of the skies without accusation of resenting the earth.

I want to escape, to run until the anger doesn't chase me away from you and your tension doesn't cut me like a knife.

Ritual

Slow, deep breaths.
Smudge the space.
Clear myself of you

Lay out the altar
Tools of my trade. Aids of my soul. 
God figure. Father, protect me from my own heart.
Goddess. Mother, heal my aching soul.
Stone for Earth. Earth, teach me strength to walk away.
Incense for Air. Air, clear me of desire for you.
Candle for Fire. Fire, burn away this pain & desire.
Shell for Water. Water, wash away my pain.
A drop of blood for Spirit. Let it all come out in this drop and be gone from me.

Walk the circle. Knife of bone and stone.
Here is boundary between Outer and Inner. 
Here is the line between you and me. 
Here is where I set the barrier: only enter, what I seek.

As Above, So Below.
The Six Sacred Directions, hear my plea. Accept my offering of tobacco
Ancestors, share your  wisdom. Accept my offering of cornmeal. 
Little People, take my honey and pay no tricks on my head or my heart. 

Stand, and face the Moon.
Mother, heal me. Cleanse me of the desire for that which harms me. 
Turn, face the setting Sun.
Father, protect me. Shield me from that which would harm me. 

Feel the Earth beneath my feet.
Caress the Wind that stroke my body.
Soak in the Heat the touches my skin.
Feel the Water droplets on the grass on my legs.

Heal me, Shield me, Help me. 
It hurts. 
Give me strength to walk away. Guide my steps along the right Path. Help me not to stray from it. 
Ease my aching heart when I am tempted to turn back. 
Give me the strength, and the courage, to go on where I should. 

Sink to the ground, let the earth heal me. Let it strengthen me.
Cry. Let the tears purge me. Fire and water, burning droplets. Stretch out on the earth and soak in Her presence, feel the air's caress like a comforting touch.

And after a small eternity, stand renewed and strengthened.

Thank you, Mother. 
Thank you, Father.
Thannk you, Earth. 
Thank you, Air. 
Thank you, Water. 
Thank you, Fire. 
Thank you, Spirit.
Thank you, Six Sacred Directions.
Thank you, Ancestors. 
Thank you, Little People. 

Thank you, strong heart for healing. 
Thank you, strong feet for walking. 
Thank you, strong eyes for crying.
Thank you, strong hands for crafting ritual. 
Thank you, strong voice for speaking our pain. 
Thank you, Self, for strength and love. 

Close the Circle.
Carry the joy into your life.

Slow stalking steps.
Deep, easy breaths.
Paws barely touch the ground, a cat's tiptoe.

The scent of you is intoxicating, distance irrelevant to the brief flashes of it on the wind.

The predator in my head has settled to wait, settled to slowly hunt.

I hope she knows that this hunt is not one at which she can succeed; hope she knows that sometimes all prey escapes.

I try to explain, share images of deer that bound away and times when other predators are simply biggerfasterstronger, but she does not understand the concept of losing, does not understand not trying.


She doesn't understand that she can't have you.

Half-awake dreaming

Eyes heavy-lidded with arousal. Fingers trembling with lust, and something more. An animal, primal *need* to touch, hold, share, give. The stroke of fingertips across a bare hip. The barest caress of lips against a throat. The gentlest brush of teeth prompting a soft sigh. The heat of a body pressed against mine. Weight and scent and glorious vulnerability of arms around me. The intoxicating scent of you, shifting into the sweeter, sharper, muskier notes of arousal. The almost unconscious shift of my hips as much demand as invitation. The slow curling of arousal in my belly, and the shift of you against me. Hardness pressed into my skin, enough to draw a primitive moan from my suddenly tight throat. Need. Desire. And something more. A chemical cocktail with a terrifying resemblence to nitroglycerine.

Forest dreams

Today the walls are too close. Today, the windows are too small.
The sunburn aches on my back, a potent reminder that I don't spend enough time outside anymore.
My eyes ache from the monitor, eyestrain and headache from sedentary boredom.

Time spent on Pinterest staring at other people's gardens, other people's dreams while staring at a computer trying to make enough money to pursue my own.

Today, I don't want to stare at other people's dreams.
Today, I ache to walk out, pick up my car, and just drive.
Roll down the window and taste the cool air, drive north until I hit the mountains. Drive north until I'm lost on back roads with no idea of where I am going. I want the horizon to be close and green, the only walls around me.
I want to find a place to pull off; just leave the car running and walk out. Wander the woods until my clothes stop itching and I remember the taste of loamy air on the back of my tongue. Find water and head upstream, away from people, splashing until I am soaked and taste the copper from the hills in micro-particles.

I want to strip my clothes off and run, letting the brush tear at me- whipcracks of penance for my indoor life and softened skin. I want to run barefoot along the creekbed, wincing at the occasional sharpness beneath my feet and ducking the trees around me until the veneer of civilization sloughs off and I remember how to run.

I want to find a game trail and launch myself along it, easier strides finally settling into the rhythm from childhood when we all knew how to throw ourselves into the movement, ducking and dodging and moving with the speed born of a sixth sense about every rock, tree, leaf, and bush.

I want to remember what cool water feels like beneath my feet and the air tastes like when you're free.

Instead, the phone rings and my eyes are drawn again to the glowing screen...

Predator Sex

The predator is pacing, restless in the cave behind my eyes.
I've been giving her small outlets with teeth and hands and the taste of your neck beneath my lips, but she is hungry now and disinclined to wait longer.

Your small moans at every scrape of my teeth are plenty to keep her attention, and she has been just behind my eyes and nipping at my psyche for hours now. Finally, when we reach the bed, she is tired of waiting. The immediate surrender in your face, the slackness of your jaw and the heavy lidding of your eyes drives her to the fore of my mind, takes control of my hands until you are lying  back across our bed and I am atop you and eyeing your neck with a lust somewhere between blood and sex.

There is no gentleness to me tonight. No soft kisses, and gentle nips. There is no kindness in my eyes or softness in my jaw tonight. Only the weight of my body pressing yours down, the pressure of my teeth in your skin. Tonight, there is only the purring satisfaction at your soft sounds of pain and the snarling pleasure in your tiny gasps of fear.
Tonight, there is the taste of your fear on my tongue and the knowledge that in this state it is easy to go too far, to bite too hard.
In this state, the tight pressure of my teeth around your nipple falls so easily into the taste of blood.
In this state, the soft texture of your belly is an almost unbearble invitation.
In this state, the vulnerability of your cock breeds a desire not to pleasure, but to rip and tear.

I know you can tell. I can see in your face, in the tightness around your eyes when you see the hungry way I eye your erection, that she is angry and hungry and wants to hunt.
You are my Mate, but tonight, you are prey.

I can't bring myself to ease the pressure of teeth scraping just a bare increment too hard against your cock. I can't bring myself to stop biting down- more gently than I desire!- on the round bulbs of your balls. I can't bring myself to be gentle tonight with the most vulnerable part of your body, so I finally give up.

Drawing myself back up your body is an exercise in restraint, an exercise in resisting the temptation to take a chunk out of your skin and revel in the taste of meat on my lips. Only when I reach the top of you and sink my teteh into your neck, do I realize that I am wet. Only when I taste the coppery scent of your fear do I realize that I am hungry for more than blood and meat.

Only when I see the barest flinch and low gutteral moan when I fill myself with you, do I allow the predator to slip her chain a little more. Only when I feel the thickness of you sliding inside of me, do I arch myself over you, the tips of my breasts dragging across the skin of your chest with every thrust of your hips.
Only when I am riding you, filling myself with your heat, do I let myself close my teeth on your throat and growl the predator's hunger and lust.
 Only when I feel your shudder beneath me and harden even more do I let myself smile and ride you to oblivion with my hand around your throat.

Predator Tears

The predator paces n my head, caged and angry. An eerie howl- equal parts rage and pain- pounds behind my temples and pircks tears in my eyes.
The predator does not handle pain well, does not hande denial.
She does not understand human ethics, or why she cannot have what she wants when it sits before her, wafting delicious scent of arousal to her keen nose.

She does not understand, and it is the inside of my heart on which she sharpens her claws.

Flashbulbs

Flash: Red wine glass cradled in your hand. Your fingers curled around the delicate bowl. Brief image of them around my breast.

Flash: Your smile, canines prominent. Trickle of arousal.

Flash: Warmth of your body pressed against mine, scent of you surrounding me. Sensation of melting arousal warmth in the pit of my belly.

Flash: Your hand on my throat, wrapping easily most of the way around. Strangled moan ripped from my half-parted lips.

Flash: Sensation of your teeth in my skin, curiousity about just how sharp your canines are.

Prey Dreams

The woods around me are cool and green, but I don’t notice- not today. Rarely am I prey- I have reminded lovers more than once that I am a predator in my own right- but in this moment I am the frightened rabbit Rush named me for, bounding through the woods with fear hot on my heels.

Fear isn’t the only thing. My feet are pounding, bare into the cool earth, and while I know my own steps are loud, they aren’t as loud as those behind me. So rarely am I the one pursued in my dreams, but today, I am. Branches slap at my exposed skin, leaving welts of their own before you even begin to draw close, and every bush I dodge and tree trunk I leap seems to reach out and exact its own toll for passage… or perhaps it seeks to slow or catch me for your use.

I can hear your steps behind me, over my own labored breathing, and a glimpse back is enough to make me stumble. That stumble is enough to be my undoing, slowing me just enough for an animal leap and outstretched hand to force me to my knees, scrambling painfully in the dirt, trying desperately to rise before… but it is too late, and the full weight of your body lands across me, driving the air from my lungs with a surprised grunt.

I’m nearly useless until I can breathe again, able only to draw my knees up in a pathetic attempt at something between the fetal position and kicking you away. Your only response is a growling laugh- as much the beast as the man- and a deft yank at my legs to force them back down while I choke and wheeze and try to curl away from the heat and weight of your body across me. I won’t mention the secret whimpering desire to curl into you, instead.

My breath is slowly coming back, gasps of oxygen slowly drawing strength into my limbs, but my legs are already pinned by your weight and my wrists by your hands. Your face is nearly atop mine and I want to snap and bite like the captive animal I am at this moment, but the snarl on your lips is enough to freeze me in place.

I am reasonably certain that if I call a true halt to this, that you will. Reasonably certain that if I call ‘Red,’ that you will stand, help me up, and all will be finished. But there is a kernel of doubt in my mind, and that kernel  freezes my limbs and wets my thighs.

The ground is hard beneath my back, little sticks and sharp edged leaves cutting into my skin and I know I am bleeding from at least one of the scratches that line my body like whipmarks. I know it in a much more visceral sense when your snarl abruptly becomes a growl, your face lowering to my neck, dragging my wrists as you slowly smell down the length of my bare body, causing goosebumps in a strange cocktail of fear and slowly growing desire. The first bleeding scratch you find is along my ribcage, ironically just below the old barbed wire scar and your tongue is oddly raspy against it. For once, it doesn’t tickle and in fact makes me writhe in pain until you clamp down on my skin with sharp teeth, freezing me again with a gasp and small whimper.

In this moment, I feel more like prey than I may have ever before, frighteningly unsure of what exactly you intend but only certain that I have little to no choice in it. I am embarrassingly grateful that your teeth are relatively gentle, and as your cheek grazes my side, my breathing speeds up again but for entirely different reasons.

I know you can hear the change, and the touch of your face against my skin as you explore my body with the most primitive of senses holds a note of cruel playfulness now, knowing that my body will respond to you despite my mind’s screaming fear… or perhaps because of it. Abruptly, the teasing caress is replaced by your teeth again, this time in the soft skin of my belly. My strangled gasp is closer to a barely restrained scream, and I know you can smell the abrupt switch to fear-scent along my body. Your reaction is clear and completely primal as your body sinks into mine, hands tightening on my wrists with bruising force, and your teeth sinking into my skin with enough force to make me writhe and scream against you in something between need, pain, and utter terror.

Finally, finally, your teeth slowly release the now well-marked skin of my belly, leaving behind a scatter pattern of rounded teethmarks and a faint trembling throughout my body. Only now do you move farther down my body, and the trembling is of a different sort when your cheek grazes my exposed hip and your teeth skim the hollow between hip and mons.

I hear your breathing change now, scenting the steadily growing arousal between my thighs and it triggers a change in my own- high, keening whimpers of fear and desire as my mind flips between desire for your mouth on me and fear of your teeth in the most sensitive skin of my body.

The graze of your teeth across my labia are enough to make me cringe, and your growl is closer to a chuckle now, which is less than reassuring to my panicked heartbeat.Twisting my wrists desperately, I am thankful that you are distracted enough by the scent of my arousal that your hands have loosened, allowing me to yank my hands free and scramble from beneath you when you rear back in surprise.

In a second I am on my feet and moving but fruitlessly. Without bothering to stand, you you simply leap at me before I can run, bringing my back down hard enough to see stars. Even more vulnerable now, prone in the crunching leaves I try fiercely to wriggle away, but succeed only in settling your weight more firmly across my body. Your hands pinning my arms now will leave bruises without question, and as I buck against you, I can feel you growing harder against my exposed ass from the writhing kiss of skin on skin and the intoxication of complete power over me. Redoubling my efforts, I only earn myself the sharp, bruising pain of your teeth in the back of my neck.

The force of your teeth in my neck flips a switch in the deeply primal, feline part of my psyche and I drop limply beneath you in surrender. I can feel your mild surprise and confusion in the increased pressure on my arms anticipating a trick, but there is no trick now. Your teeth in the back of my neck give the most primitive aching corner of my psyche a simple message: He wins. This is earned.

With a low moan, my head drops to the forest floor and I writhe beneath you in blatant invitation, arching my neck slightly into your teeth. Despite the lust I can now smell equally clearly on you, your suspicion remains and my arms are dragged behind my back to be pinned one handed while you lift yourself slightly from my body and drawing a whimpering moan from me. Lifting my hips in primitive request, I am surprised by the sharp smack to my ass until it’s quickly followed by one large hand pressing my face back into dirt when I lift it in startled inquiry. There is a potent reminder in the rough force that regardless of any change of heart, initiative today is unwelcome and control of this moment resides firmly and completely in your hands. A soft whimper escapes my throat as I subside back to the ground, fighting my own urge to press into you. Your chuckle is nearly human now, and the hand that runs caressingly down my side is a clear reward for my obedience, which draw another small whimper from my throat, but this time in gratitude for the gentle touch.

I revel a little now in the vulnerability of my position- naked, prone, wrists pinned in one of your hands at the small of my back, and your body easily pinning mine. The heat of your skin and scent of it rubbing into mine is enough to make me moan and ache to arch into you, even as your legs roughly part mine and I can feel the hard length of you pressed against my ass. No fear of punishment or desire for obedience is enough to stop my hips from rising to meet you, and even your free hand roughly pressing me back down elicits not the slightest contrition.

Finally, finally, I feel the head of you nudging me, opening me, and when my inner lips finally part and you slide inside of me the sound pulled from my throat is matched only by your low sound of satisfaction.

I am physically incapable of stillness now, not with the heavy heat of you inside of me, stretching and filling me, and shortly I am writhing beneath you and matching every pump of your hips. I can feel you stroking my g-spot with every thrust, but your hand forcing my face back into the ground reminds me once more that my input here is not encouraged, and for the moment I am simply prey to be taken and enjoyed. I can’t not rock my hips to meet yours, can’t stop the steady stream of moaning whimpers spilling from my parted and dirt-covered lips. I may not be able to control any of this interaction, but neither fear nor obedience can stop me from responding to it, can stop the steady stream of pleading sounds ripped from my throat as you fuck me.

I have no idea how much time passes, no idea when  my body finishes adjusting to yours and the movement of my hips roughens, deepens and matches yours. I have no idea when the painful pressure of your cockhead against my cervix becomes almost pleasure, or if I just stopped caring due to the endorphin rush. I have no idea when sweat and arousal mixed to create the potent, slippery scent permeating the air around us, or when you released my hands and let me brace myself for your thrusts.

I have no idea when the last shred of control fell from us both, or when your teeth found my neck again. I have no idea how much time passed before I felt the telltale speeding of your hips, the change of your thrusts to cross the line into pain, or the clenching of your hands on my hips. I only know the effect on me, only know the anticipation that rocked my hips to match every painful pleasurable stroke. I only know the tightening of your hands on my hips- another set of bruises I anticipated with pleasure now- and the growling roar pulled from your throat as you spilled yourself in me.

I only know the mini-orgasm that tightened my body as my lover’s orgasm always does, and the heated collapse of your body across mine, spilling me again into the dirt. I only know the tight wrapping of your arms around my body, pinning me close to you and ignoring my half-hearted attempts to move. I only know the chuckling, raspy words spoken with an effort and growled into my ear, “Who says you’re done yet?”

Frustrated

I want to write and can't.
Creativity blocked, need stifled, teeth aching from relentless grinding.

The Predator courses under my skin, boiling with the need to escape and flee, escape and fight, but all there is to fight are phantoms of my own fears, and shadows of angry regret.

Broken promises swirl like smoke and shadows, oblivious to claws and teeth, trailing mocking laughter like nails on a chalkboard while the predator screams in rage.

I want to claw you until you bleed, fight you until our bodies are slick with sweat, bite you until the warmth of copper fills my mouth.
I want to hurt you until the hurting turns to sex and to tears.