Sometimes it hurts.

Recently, I made the decision to break things off with someone I was walking a dangerous line with.
It was a mutual decision, because he couldn't give what I needed, and I wasn't willing to let myself grow gradually more and more resentful of not getting my needs met.
I wasn't willing to harm his current relationship, and he wasn't willing to harm mine.
So we walked away.

It was the right thing to do.
The grown-up thing to do.
The ethical thing to do.

And that doesn't make it hurt a damned bit less, any time I let myself think too hard about it.

Unfinished Dream

Curled on the couch, casual intimacy that speaks of a thousand other intimacies which in waking life we have never shared. My body pressed to yours, back to chest, an arm warm and heavy around me as something silly plays on the television that I am not really paying attention to.
Slow movements of your hands, skimming along my waist and finding the hem of my loose shirt, sliding up my stomach. Your hands are so large against my body that it scares me sometimes and thrills me at others. A soft moan drawn from my throat by the heat of your skin against mine as your hand makes teasing circles over my rapidly-heating skin. My soft whimper as your fingers find the undersides of my breasts, eliciting a a small writhing motion from me, that presses my ass harder against your groin. Your low, growling response, pulling me harder into you and making me catch my breath hungrily.

Your hands wrapping around my breast, large enough to palm it, teasing my nipple until I shudder against you and make small pleading sounds. I can hear the satisfaction in your voice as tangible as the steadily growing erection against my ass, and when I feel you bend against me, I close my eyes for the scrape of teeth on my neck that I know is coming.

I have completely forgotten about the television until a laugh track startles me, making me jump against you, and your hands tighten in reflexive protectiveness before we both laugh. You're undeterred, however, and it is only seconds later that I feel your teeth sinking into the curve of neck and shoulder and I am gasping, whimpering and writhing against you in unspoken plea.

I was bouncing, writing happily about committing violence on you, when three simple words broke it.
Broke me.

How ironic. I was writing about breaking you, when your words broke me.

“I trust you.”

You don’t understand.

I have heard a thousand “I love you’s” from a hundred throats. That is not arrogance but truth. I care for people and make no secret of it, accept them and let them know that- it is damned attractive in a world in which we all feel as though we must be ‘perfect’ to be loved.
I have heard a thousand ‘I love you’s’ from a hundred throats, and perhaps a dozen, in close to 30 years, truly meant it, meant it as I do.

So those words mean little to me- they are a way of justifying your emotions, your desire, a way of expressing need without admitting that it is need and nothing more.

I trust you.

Those words are rarer, harder.

Do not misunderstand. I hold the trust of more people than even I probably realize. I have made a career of being the person people trust.

And yet, it never fails to hit home, never fails to kick me square in the chest and draw an almost subliminal need to be worthy of that trust.

I am thankful I don’t hear those words often.

You thought they made me uncomfortable, seemed amused by it.
You misunderstand.

It isn’t discomfort you see. It is the abrupt drop of tensed shoulders, the standing from a stalking crouch. It is the Predator turning from focused hunter intent on maiming you, into a purring pussycat and tempting me to rub against you in invitation to stroke her coat.

Good

Bored and mischievous, hungry and teasing.
Reminding you of your precious rules, while poking at them.
You told me this morning, "Good men don't need rules. Why do you think I have so many of them?"

Maybe I'm better than you, then.
I have one rule.

Don't hurt people you love.

Maybe I'm not.
Maybe I suck at it.

Because I want to push you into breaking your rules.
I want to ride down the elevator with you and step into you, watch the flicker of panic as you back into the wall. I want to stand on tiptoe and kiss you, knowing you won't stop me if I take the initiative, if you can tell yourself it wasn't your fault and you didn't do it.

I want to bite you, press my teeth into your skin until you can't restrain your most primal self from rising, from reaching for me, from taking what you both want.

I want to push you. I want to force you.

I am not a good person.

But I think you knew that.

You dreamed

Images you've given me, the dream in your head:
Crowded bathroom from your youth. Broken towel rack, bruised knees, cold wall against hot skin.

My mind responds with images from the home inside my mind. Images from the bathroom I've painstakingly built in my own fantasy world: the sunken garden tub surrounded by plants, 6' glass brick window over it, and granite and glass brick shower large enough for 3, with 5 rain-style shower heads and reclaimed teak benches. The long, waist-high counter running the length of the room, two sinks and a vanity seat comfortable enough to convince even me to wear makeup.

My mind responds with towel racks sturdy enough to use for barre, and soft rugs to ease bruisable knees.

I hear your voice whispering in my ear, the words that started this entire spiral:
"you cornered me in a bathroom and took what you wanted... and I didn't stop you". 

Again, my mind responds with a plot line, details to fill in your bare statement: an image of steam from the shower rising around you. The sensation of tile beneath my feet and the sway of my hips as I stalk toward you. The cornered look in your eye, half fear and half anticipation. Towel held in front of you like a shield from my nudity... or perhaps, from your reaction to mine. The slow, curving smile flitting across my lips- pleasure and anticipation and challenge- as I reach you and wrap one hand around the back of your neck, pressing myself into you as I pull you down to kiss me. There is no question, no offer here. My lips are a demand, and your response merely payment.

My imagination offers a tangled barrage of images: the towel dropping as your hands move to grip my arms, holding me in place against you. Your hands, your mouth, on my breasts, rough and hungry with long denial. My gasp and arch against you at the sharp pain/pleasure of teeth in sensitive nipples. My body bowed back against you, your hand beneath my lower back. 

Low ache of tile beneath my knees, your thighs beneath my hands as I drag you into my mouth. Low growl of contentment at the long-awaited taste of you. Teasing flicks of my fingers against your balls, choking fullness of each deep-throating press of my lips to your groin.

My legs wrapped around you, gripping your waist with the ease of nearly 3 decades of horseback riding. The sharp ache of you inside me, stretching me. The moaning warmth of your teeth against my throat. The dig of my nails in your back, coppery scent of blood in the air. 

In the shower. Hot water running over your skin, reddening it until a part of me waits for Beastie to split through your skin like a bad werewolf movie. The image should disgust me, and yet it doesn't.

Cold tile against my back, your hands gripping my ass. Thighs burning with strain of gripping you and cunt joyfully full. My nails digging into your shoulders, breasts bouncing, and the sheer animal lust on your face almsot enough to drag me over the edge into orgasm.

Outside, steam swirling around the room and the tile floor cold beneath my feet. My breasts pressed into the counter, body bent beneath you. Brief glimpses of your face in the mirror, eyes almost angry and hands rough on my hips. One hand lifting to my head, tangling in my hair, forcing my head back down until I am pressed down and helpless beneath you- your legs spreading mine, your hands forcing me down and over. Ache of my jaw against the cold counter, and the stark contrast of the heat of your skin, the heat between my legs. 

Over and over, the video loops in my head, until I squirm in my seat and fight the growing wetness between my thighs. 

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

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.

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.

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.

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?”