Yes

It has been too long, beloved, since I have tasted your submission on my lips.
It has been too long since your eyes have darted from mine, shy and downcast.
It has been too long since you have bitten your lip, your voice an aroused, embarrassed whisper: "Yes, Ma'am".

Your body stretched across mine, across my lap with your hands in the small of your back, wringing nervously but your cock warm and half-hard trapped between my thighs. My hands rubbing your rounded ass, teasing you while tiny whimpers and moans escape your lips and your hips move against me whenever you can't quite help it. The first blow- not too hard but your jerk and low moan are symphonic as I'm getting steadily more aroused against you. The next, harder, and the next. Backing off a little, rubbing and teasing and stroking your perineum until your wriggle and shiver before another flurry of spanks. Your ass reddening against me, heating up, your sounds becoming more anguished and yet your body relaxing against me, submitting to my hands to my touch, to my will.
You have no idea how beautiful that you are right now, no idea how much I want you just yet.

It is later, and the toys are set aside, the bed cleaned off, and you have licked the cum from your fingers with embarrassed, pleased eyes and hidden your face against me.
It is later and you are still sticky against your belly and the ache in my cunt is threatening to turn to pain as I lie back, beckoning your face between my legs, dragging your head where I want you, placing you against my engorged and throbbing clit.
Your eager obedience thrills me, as always. The avid hunger with which you approach me, tempered with the strength of your desire to please me and slowing you down to approach as I prefer. The kisses up my thighs, cheeks pressed firmly against the ticklish skin, heated breath against the hyper-sensitive flesh until I am moaning in wanton desire. Quick flick of your tongue, teasing and hungry as you taste my arousal, taste the soaking proof of my desire for you. Your groan louder than my own moan as you press into me, licking and sucking and kissing and teasing my clit with flicks of your tongue and gentle touches of your lips.
Your tongue sliding between my engorged lips, pressing deeply into me, circling my lips until my fingers curl around your neck and press you into me in clear demand.
Your lips against my clit, your tongue circling me until I am moaning and arching into you and it isn't going to take much longer, my love, before......

Yes.

Yes, this.

Your face pressed between my legs, your tender submission in my hands, your head resting on my thigh in complete surrender as I shake and moan against you, riding waves of pleasure and need and love and desire.

Yes, my love.

Yes, this.

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?"

Now

My body stretched atop yours, my cock moving in and out of you while you whimper,moan, and plead in a language I don't know.

My arms around your shoulders, giving me leverage for the fucking of you just as much as holding you close while I do so.

Your face turned half to me, dark eyes distant and turned inward toward your own pleasure... I want to take you and rip you away, rip you away from your pleasure and back to me, and I want for you to feel this, to enjoy this, forever.

You are riding me now, as I rest and let my hip recover from fucking you. Your body moving atop mine, my hands on your thighs and your head thrown back in pleasure and release, your are beautiful.

Your hand wrapped around your cock, lovely little cock, and pumping with the rhythm of your hips fucking yourself on my own, and I can only smile, groan my own pleasure and contentment while you whimper and ride me.

Soon your eyes are wide, begging, your hips and hands frantic as you whisper to me, "Now? Now?...."

Yes, darling..... Now.

Weekend Highlights

This weekend, I was privileged to have 3 scenes with 3 absolutely gorgeous boys and 1 demo topping experience with the SouthEast Bootblack 2009. One at the play party for the local FemDom group, and the rest at the TNG play party, Whippersnappers.

I am not sure that I'm up for writing all four scenes, so I will give you a few highlights until (unless?) I write each scene properly.

Friday night, Omega:

Stretched in the tower, I explained to him that, "Everything has a price," and extracted mine for turning the space heater on his deliciously vulnerable body before introducing him to each implement in my toybag. His groans, moans, and whimpers were delicious, particularly the huskiness of his voice as we cuddled together afterwards with his large body wrapped around my small (and much warmer!) one.

Saturday night, Demo:

I knew only that our demo bootblack for the weekend was staying with me, and that we had met briefly at a few conventions. Shortly, however, we'd become fast friends, and she chose my (leather) outfit for the evening: stilettos, leather pants, and a leather overbust corset. I could barely stand in the heels, but it was worthwhile as our lovely demonsstrator's small hands ran slowly (and quite thoroughly) over every inch of my leather clothing, oiling them for me before an audience... after deep-throating my stilettos.

Saturday night, Diablo:

I've rediscovered my fondness for spreader bars, spreading lovely Diablo wide and vulnerable. A simple scarf wrapped around his eyes as I take one of my favorite canes to his pretty little ass and thighs, over and over. His little sounds, the whimpering tone to his voice, are beautiful as I steadily work him up, then bring him down before repeating the process over and over again. His lovely, lithe body wrapped around me afterwards as he asks with nervous features if I'm pleased.

Oh yes, darling. Very.

Saturday night, Shiny

We met at the munch, a week before, and I received an extremely sweet email from him via Fetlife. I hadn't expected to have the time or energy to play again, but I did and was privileged with his first scene at our local club. His frantic blushes as he undressed were a delicious appetizer to adorable little whimpering sounds with every blow of hand or toy and beautiful shivers at every touch of nails or teeth until finally I had to wind down due to both time and a concern for his level of bruising the next day. Hopefully, however, there will be more opportunities...

KISS

The knife is at his throat.

It's a pretty knife. Actaeon gave it to me. Columbia River Knife and Tool, KISS blade.

KISS is an acronym. It stands for, "Keep it simple, stupid," and this knife is designed to those standards. I like it.

A lot. Actaeon carried it every day before giving it to me, replacing the one Wolf had given me.

He takes good care of his toys- it has a nice, sharp edge, which I am currently holding to Diablo's throat.

Oh he's so pretty like this! His eyes are huge and terrified, welling with silent tears. He's afraid of knives, did I mention that?

KISS

Did you know that it only takes one pound of pressure to cut skin, boy?

No, Ma'am, he whimpers. I didn't know that.

So articulate! Clearly, I'm not doing my job.

I shift my hold on the blade, a movement USB taught me, so that the tip of the blade- sharpest point of a knife- is pressed tightly under his chin and he keens in terror.

It would be so easy to shove it home, sheathe the hard steel in his warm, yielding throat.

Nope, no Freudian thoughts there.

KISS

Holding the blade steady, thinking hard about the consequences of shoving the blade home, putting the leash back on my psychopathic side.

Just the knife, just the boy.

KISS

His eyes are filling with tears again, which he stubbornly blinks away. He won't cry in front of me, not yet.

I can have his blood, but not his tears.

We'll fix that soon enough....

The Whys and Wherefores

"Do you know why I'm doing this?" I ask him.

His eyes are huge, brilliant green, and locked onto my face as she shakes his head a little, whispering hoarsely, "No, Mistress."

I smile. He cringes when I smile like this. He hasn't known me long,but he already cringes when I smile at him tenderly.

He's a fast learner, my little Diablo.

But he hasn't learned this quite yet. He is accustomed to photo shoots, pretty lights and photogenic welts.

I'm not photogenic- I tried modeling once, but I hated every moment of it. I don't care what I look like when I'm hitting you. I just want to see the fear in your eyes.

But the fear is already there crinkling the skin around his eyes, so I decide to be nice and explain it to him.

I lift the little evil stick- a replacement for the one I bought last year at SouthEast LeatherFest which mysteriously disappeared after using it on someone who hated it- and his eyes widen even more. It's interesting, I didn't know he could manage that- it's rather amusing, so I tap him lightly on the nose with it, enjoying his cringing.

"I'm doing it because I want to, boy."

Another tap, another flinch.

"I'm hurting you because I think it's fun."

The next tap is to his balls, drawn up tight in arousal, and he keens a little in terror.

"I'm going to do awful things to you because I like the way your eyes get all wide and scared.

Another tap, another keening sound.

"I don't have a camera. I don't care what this looks like for the website or for any other fucking reason."

A harder tap, a high-pitched keen.

"I'm doing this because I'm just a little bit of a sociopath, and you're the stupid little whore who let me tie him up and hurt him."

His eyes are beautiful- wide and terrified and just beginning to understand....

Switching with Actaeon

Actaeon has cut his hair. It leaves his cheekbones higher, more exposed, his lips (even) fuller, and the planes of his face are harsher and more masculine. He looks…. aggressive. But that makes me uncomfortable, so I tell him that he resembles a young hedgehog and feel my heart contract at his expression of distress.

There is a difference even in his walk- no longer the feminine sway of his hips to which I am so accustomed (and so enjoy watching!) but a more assertive tread of boots now.I don’t know how to respond to this person I know but do not know, this masculine side of himself to whom I’ve never been formally introduced: “Hello, who are you? I have shared my body, my heart, with you, but I don’t know you.”

I know I am being cruel, know that my small, cutting remarks are out of line, but I can’t help it. I’m disconcerted, frightened by the replacement of the boi I’ve loved with this young man I’ve only ever seen glimpses of.…. and fear as always made me angry.

It is later, and I have apologized. Seeing glimpses of the boi I love in this man I barely know has helped until I’ve begun to slowly integrate them in my head, in my heart, and let me see this man as simply another facet of the boi I love.

We are kissing, and even that is different. This is not the gentle yielding of his mouth to mine but something harsher, more aggressive. His tongue fences with mine, where before it yielded, his lips demand where before they begged. I don’t know this stranger who is kissing me with the familiarity of a lover, and it makes me tense, afraid. Who are you? Why are you pressing your body to mine as though you are my lover, as though I know you, and why do I have the unaccountable urge to yield to it?

And suddenly it clicks.

His need to express this newfound masculinity aggressively, our long-ago discussions of him as a switch, and my own trust in him. It crystallizes in a single memory of him holding me, rocking me, whispering words of comfort when I was afraid and overwhelmed, and abruptly the switch is thrown.

I know this man, he is another facet of the boi whom I love. I trust this man, who has proven that he can comfort me and still believe in me afterward, and he is worthy of this, this yielding in me which I do not give to anyone.

My body goes soft, pliant in his hands, and my mouth opens to his. There is a single startled moment as his mind registers the change in me before his hands respond- tightening their grip with a low growl, winding in my hair, his body pressing me farther into the bed and his hips opening my now-willing legs.

And I let myself sink into the trust, the surrender, which I so rarely allow myself, so rarely trust in another being as he relearns what this victory feels like with someone capable of fighting.

Diablo and Actaeon

He is strung up from the eyebolts in my living room, his legs spread wide by one of the spreader bars my father gave me.

A very pretty boy: his body long and lean, a few tattoos in judicious places to show off the muscular curve of his arms, and the line of his back until it curves into a tightly rounded little ass. I step 'round in front of him, smiling pleasantly.

He looks so nervous! He hasn't known me long enough to get nervous at my most pleasant smile! I can only chuckle, low in my throat, and wrap the silk scarf around his eyes to remove his sight.

Poor thing... spread wide and open, exposed and vulnerable to me, sightless, naked, and trembling in fear. It sends a thrill of arousal through me, dampening my cunt inside my jeans, and I point at the floor in front of Diablo, summoning my Actaeon here in front of him. It takes little arranging, a short length of rope and a collar with a D-ring, before my pretty boys are attached to one another.

It's a beautiful sight: the open living room, Diablo tied standing spread-eagle, naked with only the purple silk scarf slashing tightly across his pretty face, and Actaeon kneeling before him equally naked and obedient, watching the rising cock before his face with something between trepidation and hunger.

Actaeon's hot little mouth tight around Diablo's cock, Diablo moaning and leaning into him, the muscles of his calves tight with the effort of not thrusting into Actaeon's willing mouth.

Actaeon's soft sounds of pleasure, the slight slurping of his hungry tongue, lips, and teeth.

And now the crack of paddle, the disbelieving half-yelp from Diablo's throat as it connects with his rounded ass.

"Awww," I whisper in his ear, "girls play rough, don't they?" as another crack catches him in the sweet spot just where his buttocks meet his thighs. it isn't long before he is whimpering, hissing, and moaning with every blow as I cycle through my favorite toys: the twisted acrylic cane, the heavy leather pig-slapper, the hickory paddle, the rubber loop paddle... he learns all of them intimately, while Actaeon continues to work him with hungry slurps of his lips and hands clutching his smooth thighs, keeping Diablo hard through pain he never thought he would stay hard through.

Such lovely, lovely boys, both of them, and we climax with a second rendition of Actaeon's birthday spanking- on Diablo this time- before retiring to the couch for a lovely, lingering, 3-way cuddle.

Release

I was crying against his chest.

Fuck, I hadn't meant to do that, hadn't felt it coming on.

Oh, I knew I was stretched wire-tight and close to snapping- cutting Wolf from my life, losing Devilpup, worrying about money and school, and stretched for time- but I hadn't realized that I was this close, so close that all it took was the momentary safety of his arms for the tears to overflow.

I started to pull away, started to apologize, but he laughed. "I've never seen you cry before," and his voice was so deadpan that I actually jerked in shock, my voice a little girl's: "Yes, you have!" and I blushed crimson when he laughed at me.

"Besides, I like it when you cry." HIs voice was huskier now, that sound he gets when he's about to hurt me, and I melted into him before I could stop myself.

He needed to go, had a long drive home... but I couldn't stop myself from responding to him.

And then I was bent in half over my couch, my calves aching with the stretch but my back and ass eagerly arched up to him. It's always like this when I let myself fall down the rabbit hole with him... one moment I'm in control, considering, thinking, weighing alternatives... and the next I'm nothing but a throbbing pile of nerves and needs in his control.

Part of me hates it- hates the vulnerability that it creates in me- but the rest of me melts eagerly into his hands. He's the only person these days I feel safe enough with to let go, and I've been hanging on painfully tightly lately.

I wish I could write you hot porn about the things he did to me, the way that he hurt me until I cried for him, and not just for myself. I wish that I could describe the things that he did and the sexiness of it... but I can't. I can only remember flashes of the actual events, the actual blows...

My voice, small and nearly unintelligible as it escapes a throat clogged with tears, "Hurt me please until I have an excuse to cry," and the way that his eyes lit up in that insanity that I love so much.

His fists, thudding into my ass and thighs, the sharp pain of each spank until I'm writhing away from him, unable to stop myself... and his hand in my hair, painfully tight while his voice whispers viciously in my ear, "keep your ass where I want it, bitch," until I struggle to obey him.

His eyes, lit up with demonic pleasure at my tear-streaked and reddened face, telling me how hot it makes him to see me cry like this. He is so beautiful, I remember thinking briefly, before I couldn't think anymore at all.

My mouth on his chest, him telling me to suck his nipple while I cried, and my struggles to obey and please him around my sobs, the vicious pleasure on his face while I strain to obey him.

My face resting on his thighs while I'm kneeling on my hard floor, kissing gently, thanking him over and over, unsure if any sound is escaping my mouth or not... but knowing that he can hear me.

Once... and again...

It's morning. My mind knows it, waking quickly despite my exhsuated body's protests. Lucivar and I didn't get home until nearly 2am, and I'd lay heavy wagers that I didn't get more than an hour of sleep at a time.

And yet my mind is awake, as always, instantly buzzing with the knowledge of Lucivar's warm weight pressed against me. I can't resist pressing my face to his skin and inhaling his scent- it really is an aphrodisiac, because instantly, my body and mind agree on one thing and one thing only.

We want him.

Now.

Oh, I always want him, this is nothing new. But right now as he's curled in sleep, eyelids a thin shield against the world outside of his dreams, his eye makeup smudged into something between sluttiness and vulnerability, his cupid's box mouth loose and pink, the wanting is an instant, fierce ache.

It's only been since yesterday afternoon that I fucked him, and I slept curled against him through the fitful night, but it already seems too long. And when he turns, stretching a little, eyes opening through smudged eyeliner, I am transfixed. He wriggles a little, adorable ass mocking, inviting, while the smooth length of his back beckons me, a call it takes little deliberation to answer and then I'm atop him. Straddling his smooth ass, one arm around his chest and throat and he responds instantly, my adorable little slut, bucking his ass against my groin. I know what he wants, it's the same thing that I want. That I always want.

But my strapon is in the car, still in my toybag from the night before, and I mutter a soft, heartfelt curse. His chuckle is low and deep, one of the most masculine things about him, as he reminds me that there are glass dildos on the nightstand.

I'm in motion before he finishes, the bumpy glass heavy in my hand, quickly lubed, and his pretty little ass quickly filled. It's not my cock, not my body moving inside of his, but his low hiss of pleasure as it enters him is enough.

It takes bare seconds to find the rhythm of this one, of my wrist and hand pressing it deep into his ass as I lie beside him, my lips on his shoulder, my teeth in his back, my free hand clutched in his. Rocking it, inside and out, finding that spot by trial and error and staying when I hear him moan and whimper, rocking against me in desperation.

My slutty little girlfriend is beautiful like this, and I tell him that. I'm such a lucky boi to have a girlfriend who's such a little slut, who'll take my cock so eagerly, any time I want. And maybe that's what I'll keep him around for... he doesn't need a job, a house, a life... I'll just take him home with me and keep him tied up and gagged and fuck him whenever I choose.

His whimpers are almost words now.... "please, please, please..." and it's making me wetter and wetter while I fuck him. His moans are lower now, that almost-bass sound that I love because it means he's about to cum. I speed up inside of him, nearly shoving the glass cock into him in response to his whimpered, "please please harder please!" and he explodes against me, his body bucking and shaking against mine, little sounds of ecstasy and agony drawn from his throat and I slow my rhythm and deepen it, hitting that spot hard with every thrust, prolonging the pleasure for him until he collapses into the bed, into me. Only then do I slow the cock inside him, simply rocking it gently while he thanks me with blurred eyes.

Beautiful boi, my adorable girlfriend.

We curl up together as he comes down, my groin cupping his bottom, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other brushing his hair gently away from his face. I can feel the dildo inside him, pressed against my mons and it feels so much as thought it belongs there that I can't resist rocking my hips, pressing the dildo a little deeper into him. He shifts, moans a little, and I smile, pressing my lips to his spine. My hips quickly find a rhythm, spooning my girlfriend, fucking him, my hand creeping up to his throat, into his hair, wrapped in his collar. He is quickly whimpering again, moaning, and I am whispering in his ear how lucky I am to have such a cute little girlfriend, so good and sweet and slutty for me. I'm asking him in a hoarse whisper if he likes my cock waking him up in the morning, chuckling low and evil at his frantic, "yes!", and telling him that most girlfriends don't like morning sex, most girls aren't this slutty, and he is whimpering and moaning, rocking back into my hips as they pound the glass relentlessly into him.

I can feel him start to shake again, and it startles me just a little before I laugh into his ear, nipping it with strong teeth even as I whisper, "You're going to come again for me, aren't you, you little whore!" and he's whimpering and moaning that he might, and it only makes me more determined to push him over the edge again. My hand is wrapped around his throat and I am whispering harshly that he's going to cum again for me and my hips are insisting as well and suddenly he's shaking and writhing against me, moaning, whimpering, harsh noises torn from his throat while I'm fucking him with this borrowed cock and he's cumming around me, spasming against me and my arms are tight against him and my heart is full of love for this beautiful, beautiful boi who is moaning and coming down slowly in my arms. I want to hold him like this here forever, his scent rubbed into my skin and his body pressed tight to mine.

Sharing

I'm a little nervous, and very excited. it's been a long time since I've played, and longer since the one time I've played with this boy. Kaye is delectable as a boy, lovely as a girl, and the last time that I played with him was with Terry and Lucivar. That memory still brings dampness to my thighs, and now I'm here with his beautiful Mistress and we are preparing to hurt him.

I'm more hesitant than usual, taking my cue from her. Miss Gigi has become a good friend quickly, but new friendships can be fragile and I don't want to offend her by crossing boundaries with her boy. Besides, their relationship is beyond adorable, and the last thing that I want is to chance driving any kind of wedge between them...

but oh his naked vulnerability is too beautiful, and I have a bag full of toys beside me! Miss Gigi binds his arms, then shoves him onto the bed, gorgeous red hair swirling around a perfect heart-shaped face. She has no idea how beautiful she is every day, but particularly this moment, her eyes alight with love and cruelty and concern, all wrapped together. He is facedown, and we start on his already-red ass and thighs. We alternate caressing touches and cruel blows with our various toys. Her flogger, my Ikea toy. My fingertips, her nails. My rubber loop paddle, her lips, over and over and over. Unpredictable, intense, beautiful this partnership over the helpless body of a beautiful boy.

She remove the armbinder, flip him over. Pig-slapper to the nipples, alternating with gentle fingertips, her dragon-tail, my fingernails. His face contorts, body writhing in agony only a breath away from ecstasy. Harsh angry grunts escape his mouth and we mock him, lovingly. “Poor thing, we’re so mean to you!” I giggle, and Miss Gigi and I share a smile. I wonder if she knows that she’s breathtaking like this. We find a rhythm between us, not the ease of practice, but a half-wary consciousness of one another that eventually blends into comfort.

And then it’s clear that he’s peaking, reaching the limit of what he can take, and she halts us. It’s clear in every fiber of her being that her world is wrapped inside this beautiful boy spread in naked vulnerability beneath her, and as his eyes open it’s equally clear that this sentiment is shared. I feel like a voyeur, watching them communicate wordlessly. Her mind is still afraid of the way the she loves him, afraid of the myriad things that happen in any relationship, but it’s clear from her smile that her heart can read that adoration in his eyes. I simply lie beside them, content to bask in the reflected warmth of their love- my own loves are not present just now, but I am secure in them and content to enjoy the happiness of those I’ve so quickly come to care for.

We cuddle him between us, speaking silly words of praise, care, desire, and I can only sigh in contentment… and gratitude at having been offered the opportunity to share in this moment with them.

Interlude

He is still dressed in the rubber he wore at the party.

His arms, chest, ass, and back are bruised, and he moves carefully but the grin on his face is unmistakable.

It's been a hard few weeks for my lover, and I'm pleased to see him so relaxed.

I'm exhausted, still a little sick. I had to leave the play area to keep myself from playing while sick... so tempting. An array of beautiful bodies laid out on a variety of playstations. I could play so easily, there are plenty willing to take the risk, but I'm too lightheaded from decongestants to trust myself.

Except with him.

He's walked me up to my room, and stands there now, looking like a fallen angel, wickedly innocent, in his Nasty Pig rubber and little-boy smile.

He's turning to leave now, turning to return to his Mistress, but I don't even remember moving and my hand is at his throat and I'm bending him over, pressing him into the bed. He still has his wide collar on, and my fingers are hooked into it- small fingers, they fit without choking him- too badly. I'm bending him back up to me until he's arched like a bow, his beautiful little ass offered up to me.

I want it.

I always want it.

Near him, I'm like a guy. I can't be within arms' reach without wanting to bend him over the nearest surface and fuck that pretty little ass.

As always, my beautiful little slut is making pleading noises, his ass grinding back into my hips.

Why don't I have my strap-on? I sigh, and shove him away from me.

I'll see you in the morning, boy.

Teeth

'Do you want the blood spatter powerpoint?' he asked.

My eyes went wide, and I started licking my lips. 

He laughed. 

I like USB- UberSadisticBastard2.0. He's a sick fuck, and we get along beautifully. 

'Then I want two things,' he told me. 

I nodded, warily. He scares me a little, so I wasnt about to jump into that particular snake pit. 

'Throw me another of those chocolates, and bite me.' He said it casually, but I was instantly salivating. He's yummy, too, by the way. 

My forebrain intruded briefly, and I gave him an, 'are you sure?' look as I tossed him another chocolate. 

We're sitting in my kitchen. He and Jack are a little drunk, and they've just watched the hockey game, high on their masculinity trips for the evening as we all swap stories of hurting people. We sit in the points of a triangle, Jack and I on the counters on each side of the stove, framed by blond wood, and USB leaning next to the sink, the sage-green wall and darkened window giving his face an evil cast. 

He just grins. 

Instantly, my mind is made up. He's a big boy. He can make his own mistakes. 

I cross the room, almost a stalk. I know the bloodlust is clear in my eyes, and I love this man I barely know for simply grinning in the face of it. 

Even my darling Lucivar cringes when the color of my eyes is the color of this particular insanity, but USB merely smiles. 

Right this moment, I love this man. 

He lifts his arm to me, and my eyes lock onto it. I no longer know him as person, as friend, as shoe-whore and hockey fan. He is meat, and he's lifted a piece of the meat closer to me. 

Again, my forebrain intrudes, reminding me that he will likely wear short sleeves sometime in the next month, guiding me to his upper arm, where the shirtsleeve will hide any mark. 

I can smell him. 

Right this moment, this man smells divine. 

I have no idea where the attraction ends and the bloodlust begins. 

I doubt it matters. 

I almost don't realize it when my mouth touches his flesh, so wrapped up in the scent of his skin am I, but the shock of taste is 10x stronger. 

His skin is salty-sweet, a little like blood already. I spare a moment to wonder if he's sweating in my cool house before my teeth close on his flesh. 

This moment. This moment is divine to me. I love the taste of flesh in my mouth, the resistance of my teeth sinking into flesh. 

There is cannibalism in my lineage somewhere, I know it. Because right this moment, I want nothing more that to shake my head savagely, rip a piece of him away, and swallow it. I want the taste of blood and flesh, coppersweet in my mouth. 

But I restrain myself... slowly... carefully.... and I bite down. 

There is nothing I can compare it to. There is nothing with the texture of flesh except flesh. Nothing with the taste of flesh but flesh. 

The resistance of it, sweetly stubborn, and my teeth are sinking, sinking, and my hands are cradling his arm almost tenderly and I can taste his pain. It's changing the flavor of skin, giving it a sharper taste like adrenaline, and I can hear him cursing, "Fuck! Fuck that fucking hurts! Fuck!" and I am moaning my joy and arousal and the taste of his flesh as my teeth continue to close on his body. 

I realize suddenly, just as he taps me, "enough!" that I have sunk nearly to my knees, dragging his body with me as I bite into it. 

Hands

He is stretched beneath me, making small pleading noises behind the black leather mask. It covers his eyes and nose, but I've left the gag out for this first playdate. I want to ensure he's able to call safe, and I'm just on the edge enough to consider pushing him into doing so. 

He is plugged, and his body is quite lovely beneath me as I straddle him. I can feel the buzzing of the plug through his thighs and against my own skin as he whimpers and squirms. It's cute, and I tell him so. My voice is sticky-sweet, as I inquire after his well-being. 

He grits his teeth, but responds properly, "I'm fine, Miss."

"Oh, good," I coo, and begin. 

He doesn't like sharp pain, he told me. Most toys are a sharper pain than he likes, and he doesn't like toys in general. I listened, nodding, smiling inside as he tries to tie my hands and prevent me from hurting him as I want to.

Poor, deluded boy. He's obviously never played with someone who has struggled through months of physical therapy, or trained in massage. 

I tell him that I'm going to do him a favor, going to release some trigger points. I do my physical therapist's favorite trick of skin rolling... rolling his skin beneath my fingers and looking for redness which indicates a trigger point. 

And when I find them, I dig my fingers beneath them and press until I feel them release. It's almost like finding a ridge in the sheet of muscle, and ironing it out with your fingers.

It hurts like a sonuvabitch.

My physical therapist is nicer about it, but I don't feel like being nice tonight. I find easily a dozen, digging in while his face contorts in agony beneath the mask. It's beautiful, and I'm dripping above him.

I show him my favorite trick of Lucivar's, pressing my knuckles into his breastbone and twisting back and forth. His head snaps back and forth in agony, wanting to fight my hands but unable to. I know this pain, have felt it myself from Lucivar's hands. It feels like bruising the very bone, and it is. I lean down, whisper to the boy that isn't he lucky I'm creative enough to play without the toys he dislikes? He grunts, and I giggle. 

I whisper to him that this won't leave a single mark, but that he'll feel it for days. I tap his sore chest, hard, one last time and tell him that it will be something to remember me by.

Playdate

He is standing in the middle of the room, naked and shivering a little. His face is a study in agony as I hold out the bright pink lace panties.

"Put them on," I tell him. 

He shivers, fidgets, groans a little, and gives me pleading eyes. 

I tap my foot. He's already wasted an hour of my time by being late, and I'm not impressed by the current dilly-dallying. 

Well... my mind isn't, but my cunt is wet, dripping down my thighs beneath my skirt, in fact. 

He finally drags them over his hips, starkly neon pink against his pale, pale skin.

Next, the black lace garter belt, and another long session of pleading with his eyes, his little whimpers of humiliation.

Finally, I hand him the black thigh-highs, and he bites his lip, face crimson in an agony of embarassment as he shifts his weight back and forth, .

My eyes are cold. "Stop fidgeting, and just be glad I was nice enough to leave the camera in the other room."

His head jerks up, eyes wide. "Yes, Miss," he whispers. 

Hurt me

'Hurt me?' he whispers, and his voice is high, breathy and soft in that tone which means that he wants it. 

I am glad to oblige. I have felt insecure with him, recently. More so than usual, that is. There is something about this boy that affects me, makes me fear the power he has over me. Something about him that makes me misstep, misinterpret, mistake.

Something about him that makes me hesitate. 

But not now. 

Not with that tone to his voice, not with that softness to his eyes.

That's what I look for in a horse, you know. A certain softness to the eye, that shows a willingness, a desire to please. 

I see that now in his eyes, and just as it attracts me to a mount, it makes me ache for him. 

I bring my hand down on his bottom, sharply, and he makes a small sound of pleasure-pain. His little ass is perfectly shaped, perfectly formed for my hand. A perfect heart shape, a perfect texture for spanking, biting. 

That beautiful little ass wriggles across my lap, and I can only laugh at his shameless antics... even as my hand comes down again, again, again. Directly across each cheek, just under, a little to each side, finding one spot over and over... varying my blows, stopping to rub and massage, leaning down to bite. 

But my hands are soft now, uncalloused, and grow red and sore quickly, so I switch to toys. The rubber loop paddle, the evil stick. My teeth in his back, his shoulder. He is so beautiful when he writhes for me, groans, yells.

The redness growing along his ass, his thighs.

Light, stinging blows. Hard, heavy ones. 

Holding my hand still. 'Relax for me,' the warning before the evil stick applied to his inner thighs. 

He'll get me back... he always does the next time we switch... but right now I don't care. I just want to hurt him. Want to give him what we both want, what we both need. 

His blood is close to the surface now: his pretty little hips, and long, graceful thighs are red with blood flow and blows, and I want to take my knife to him, want to cut his soft skin open and lay my mouth to the wound, drink his life into me. 

Soon, I will. Soon. But not tonight. Not yet. 

When the crimson droplets bead up along his skin, run in slow waves across skin and the scent rises up coppery, sharp, and sweet, it will be done right. Done with the time to savor his skin, the edges of the cut, the flavor of his blood like fine wine. Done with care, rolling the flavor around my mouth and across my lips. Kissing him with the taste of his blood on my mouth. 

Not tonight, not yet. 

Instead, I drag his mouth to my cock before fucking his beautiful little ass.  

A Memory

Hugging Kaye last night, I was suspended in the golden haze of memory:

They are straddling the spanking bench, their wrists tied to the spreader bar above their heads. 

Beautiful, stretched high and tight and thin, all trembling muscles and golden skin. 

It's been half a year and still I can see the moment when Kaye relaxes into Lucivar's shoulder, neck corded with tension and the pain Terry and I are inflicting on both of them. 

Terry's toybag is spread open on the bench nearby, my own (much smaller!) bag lies beside it, and we circle our boys, randomly choosing objects to hurt them with.

I've become partial to the little cane and Lucivar's bare, vulnerable feet.

Terry is wielding a heavy, painful flogger on Kaye's back. 

We switch boys, switch implements, exchange smiles, evil comments. 

The boys groan and whimper, yelp and scream. 

Golden skin shining with sweat, nearly matching sandy brown hair and lovely, muscled bodies pressed together.

Lucivar stroking Kaye's hair, comforting, even as his teeth grit at each new blow. 

Kaye's bound hands stroking Lucivar's neck, a brotherhood, a bonding in their suffering. 

They are both so beautiful, so delicious in their agony. 

It has been six months since the night we tied them together and made them whimper for us. 

It could have been yesterday for the power that memory holds to make me wet. 

A nice night's work

Jack's girl, post some of Tenderdom's BDSM waxplay candles:

My lover's lover

I walk into the house, and it's oddly quiet. There are two other people here, but I can't see them, can't hear them. 

Slowly, I wander the rooms of my home... my sneakered feet are quiet on the hardwood as I wonder what I will find when I find them.

The guest bedroom is empty, the same with the main bedroom, the media room... until I wander into the kitchen.

He is pressing her into the refrigerator, his pants down and pressed against her while she writhes and moans. Her hands are locked above her head in one of his fists while the other delves into her moist cunt and he is making low, pleased sounds at her response.

The line of his body, pressed against her, is beautiful and I go to them, pressing my suddenly painfully overdressedboday into his. I can taste the slick salt of his sweat and arousal as I press my mouth into the curve of his back. 

My lover is beautiful right now, as he plays with this girl we've both come to care for.  

Interlude

He is lying back on our couch, while she lies between his legs, her head resting on his chest. 

Every so often, he reaches for her hair, drawing her head back and kissing her deeply. She whimpers, writhing against him as her body begs for what it hopes is coming next. 

And he smiles, and drags slow hands over her skin.