For My (first) Birthday

I have two every year. It is a long story and has nothing to do with this post. Mariela asked me yesterday what I wanted for my birthday by which she meant what sort of kinky shit I want to do. What I want is a felony and therefore I won’t go into it but it got me thinking about what I want that I can actually have.

Kink has been an amazing way of getting to make the world I have always wanted. If I am able to imagine it, for the most part, I am able to have it. Sex, pain, love, hate, the whole world of human emotions has been opened up and I am able to experience what it means to be human in its entirety. Existence is multifaceted, there are angles so often feared and left unexplored. There are dimensions infinitely long and infinitely thin running like threads through the world that we see and know. Pain in people who should know no pain. Joy in moments that we expect to find no pleasure in.

The book Flatland, is the story of a creature that exists in one-dimensional space. There in no height or depth, only width. One creature, say a circle, can tell another creature, say a triangle, by how it’s width changes when they are in contact with each other. I’ll give you a minute to ruminate on that.

One day this creature is taken into a second dimension. Looking down on the plane that was his existence, he can see the shapes of things in ways that he never had before. This two dimensional Virgil shows him another world within his own world and he is never the same again. This happens again and the wise two dimension creature is taken into three-dimensional space and realizes the narrowness of even his understanding.

This can go on and on.

I am a one-dimensional creature which has seen the second and third dimensions. I am at once aware that the world I know is far more complex that I initially understood but also that it is infinitely more complex than I can fathom still. I am suspended between exploring the nuance of what has been revealed and diving deeper to see how deep I can go before being crushed by the weight of all there is.

What do I want for my birthday? I want to dive slowly. I want to slowly descend through the layers of existence starting with those I was born understanding, down through this new world of shades of gray and into the lightless pit beyond. I want to hold my breath and feel the burn, I want to hear the pressure changing in my head. I want to be a piece of coal compressed and heated, changed and realigned until I am a more hardened and crystalline creature. I want to come back from this experience and cut and polish my soul until it catches and imprisons the light.

Besides, I always have another birthday to make her drink my piss from another girl’s asshole.

Commuting

I have always been attracted to women in street clothes. Perhaps it comes from the fact that I was a sleeping kinkster for all of my early sexual life, I would see women walking down the street, shopping, driving next to me on the highway, and imagine what they were like beneath the street legal facade they wore. Breasts hidden, skirts hinting, heels and hair and lipstick working like smoke and mirrors to both accentuate the feminine while hiding the carnal. I see it everywhere, in the coffee store, on the street, on the train and some days it is hard to not simply approach one of these mythical creatures to see if they are anything more than hallucinations of my sex-soaked mind.

I pull up to the bus stop where she is standing, blond hair straightened, attention lost in her phone. She is wearing a charcoal grey skirt and white blouse. A wool jacket is buttoned and belted to reveal the curve of her body. I roll down the window and tell her to get in. She obeys and reaches for the passenger side door.

“No. Get in the back.” She pulls away from the handle as if her hand had been slapped and moves tentatively towards the back door. She climbs in and sits in the middle of the seat so I can see her in the rear view mirror. I pull away from the corner, the other people waiting for the bus may or may not have understood what had just happened. I really don’t care.

“Open your jacket,” I say as we head towards downtown. She obeys sheepishly, undoing the belt and then the buttons. Her blouse is cute and a simple pearl necklace and earrings bring it all together. “No unbutton your blouse.” She does. She is wearing a white undershirt to hide the black bra she has on.

“Pull up your skirt.” She is wearing tights, the enemy of daytime sex. “Rub your cunt.” She starts to play with herself, her perfectly manicured fingers running over the fabric. I can see through the sheer material that she is wearing a matching pair of panties. I roll down the windows in the back so she is on display for anyone who cares to look in. She is getting flush with embarrassment and excitement and her other hand pulls up her shirt to seek out her breast. Her breathing is getting short and fast as we hit the drive. All around us are commuters lost in thoughts of the work is ahead of them. She is not thinking about work, she is thinking about her sex, about getting caught, about being picked up off the street like a whore.

Around the Oak street curve and past Streeterville she is lost in her fingers as they play with her work prepped body. I take the Grand ave exit and a block west I pull into a parking garage. There is no attendant and I quickly make my way to the top of the parking lot. I find a corner away from the elevators and turn the car off. I hop out and open the back door. I pull her out by her hair and drag her the back of the vehicle. I push her down into a squatting position that she can only achieve by hiking her skirt even higher. I have her continue to rub her cunt as I unbuckle my pants and shove my cock into her mouth. She gasps for breath and starts to flail a bit but calms down and behaves after I slap her across the face. As I fuck her face, I open the back, the third row of seats has been folded down giving us plenty of room to fuck. I pull her off my dick by the hair and shove her into the vehicle. She crawls forward on her hands and knees and I get in behind her. I pull her blouse off and toss it into the seat in front of us then pull her undershirt off, exposing her bra. I pull each cup down, releasing her breasts. Her nipples are hard as I squeeze and pinch each in turn. I grab her shoulder and turn her over the back of the seat so her tits hang down and she stares out the front window. Her skirt is already up. I pull a pocket knife out and cut the tights in the crotch. She gasps in fear of the blade and at the loss of her clothes but before she can object I have forced my cock past her panties and into her wet slit. Her focus is lost as I fuck her. After a few minutes I lean forward and whisper into her ear.

“Cum like the little slut you are.” She lets go and cums for me. I can feel her cunt squeezing and finally giving out. I pull out let her collapse in exhaustion. I pull the condom off and jerk off until I am ready to cum. I slap her face and tell her to open up. Most of it goes in her but some dribbles down onto her tits. I sit back and catch my breath.

After a moment we pull ourselves together. I have her put her breast away still wet with cum and tell her not to put the under shirt back on. The black of the bra can be seen through the blouse but only if you are looking for it. Her tights are mostly intact except for the torn crotch and when she brushes out her hair it looks mostly put together. She reapplies her makeup as we finish driving the six blocks to her building and when she gets out only another whore or fellow kinkster would be able to tell that she had been properly fucked on her way to work. But this was never for them. This was for her. For the rest of the day she will know that she is a slut hiding in these business clothes, she will know that she is a sexual creature and an animal playing the proper role. When she heads to the bathroom and is reminded of the hole in her tights or feels the pinch and pull of dried cum on her breast, she will be able to remember her true nature and that is what it is all about.

Scenario: Cheerleader Vs N3rd Grrl

Two girls; one mean cheerleader and one shy little nerd girl. The mean girl corners the nerd and starts picking on her. She molests her, mocking her small tits, her glasses, her clothes. She forces her to lick her pussy under her cheerleader skirt. She makes the nerd rub her book against her clit. “You love books so much, then fuck it!” As she is rubs her cunt on the book, the cheerleader shoves a marker in her ass and continues to berate the nerd for being too smart, unliked, ugly, a social pariah. She fucks the little prissy nerd and tells her this is as close as she is going to get to a real fuck. She tells her that she is worthless and nobody wants to fuck her. As the nerd girl lays there crying from the shame and embarrassment, the cheerleader stands up and starts pissing all over her back. “You are worth nothing more that a place to piss.”

Enter the teacher
“What is all this now?” He pulls the cheerleader off the nerd and tears into her. Telling her she has no right to treat another person like that. Asking her if she would want to be treated like that. Slapping her face, shoving his hand down her throat. What would she do if she wasn’t the bully? He turns her over and shoves her face into the nerds cunt. She laps away like a dirty little whore. She is too into it. She is probably just a lesbian hiding her real feelings behind the cheerleader uniform. This is not humiliating her in the same way she had humiliated the nerd so he has the nerd turn over and makes the mean girl lick the nerd’s asshole. He then starts
fucking her, telling her that she is a dirty whore and that only horny greasy old men will want a slut like her. A girl would never touch her without being forced. He then fucks her ass like the frat boys will want to. She’s still licking the nerd’s asshole and the nerd girl is rubbing her clit. He says to the cheerleader, “You’re such a fucking little whore, look at you going down on her asshole! Who knew such a popular little brat could be so into other girls! I bet all the little frat boys would love to know what you’re really into! You thought it would be so nice to pick on her? Well, I think that WE should make you regret such a poor choice.” He grabs her pony tail and pulls her off the nerd ass, “what do you think about that!?” Her response is a soft whimper as he continues to fuck her ass. He shoves the cheerleaders face onto the nerd’s pussy, “Make sure that you get her nice and wet so that I may fuck her properly. Whores like you only get fucked in the ass.”

He makes the cheerleader lay on her back with the nerd girl on all fours with her cunt over her face. Then he fucks the nerd girl hard just inches from her face. Spit and cum slopping out of her cunt onto the mean girl ’s face. As he is about to cum, he pulls out and cums on the nerd’s ass and makes the cheerleader lick it out. Then he finishes her off by pissing in the cheerleader’s mouth . “You like pissing on girl’s so much, then you should love being treated like a piss whore.”

Letting My Imagination Go

One of the side effects of my new-found free time is that I am insanely horny during the middle of the day. Mariela was home with me last week and we ran errands for a couple of hours during the middle of the day. She was shocked at how completely my mind had been taken over by thoughts of sex and perverted acts. Everything I saw, every woman that we passed was inspiration for some dark and sexually sick flight of fancy.

My days are actually quite full. The kids are home at 2 from school and have fallen in love with the community pool. The house is perpetually in need of straightening and the clothes of five people do not wash themselves. I love it, I feel needed, I feel like I am doing something that is productive and is tangible but the stress of going from 6 in the morning to 8 at night has started to wear me down. I need a release.

It has been part of my mid-term plan to add a few playdates into the mix of my week. I have the free time, the girls are at work so it is not taking away from them, and the boys are at school. An added bonus is that my neighbors are out of the house so the screaming is less likely to end in me trying to explain to the police that she wanted me to stick a knife in her ass and piss in her mouth. Timing is an issue though. I need to make sure that I get my work done before I play because otherwise I easily degenerate from the lord of the manor to the deadbeat gigolo. And this is where my overactive imagination gets me into trouble. If I do not do something to deal with these thoughts then I become obsessed. I need an outlet for them, some halfway house for my dark passenger that will keep it in check without killing it.

Writing has always been a good outlet but I have tried to keep this blog to only the real world things that are happening. I know that most of the people who read this do not want to see the horrible images I see. They like the stories of me as a person dealing with day to day shit. What I need is a way to vent without scarring you my loyal reader.

What is that you say? You want to hear those stories? You want to know what I see? What?!? Some of you even want to help me act them out? Well then, how can I refuse? 😉

The middle ground for this is a tagging system that I am going to start using. It is simple and to the point:

  • [Title] – Real life blog entry.
  • [Scenario: Title] – A scene that I am either planning to do, want to do or already have done. This will be crazy but legal, safe looking for volunteers.
  • [Fantasy: Title] – Welcome to the dark world of my imagination. These are the sickest unrealistic flights of fancy. Not for the faint of heart. If you read it is at your own risk. If you find yourself so turned on by what you read that you can’t keep you hand out of your pants and want to make the jump for fantasy to reality, let me know and we can see what kind of scenario can be made.

So there it is, a basic warning that some of what I am going to start adding to this blog may be more than you can handle. Am I being arrogant? Am I under estimating what you are hoping that I say? No, I am making sure that you are fully informed because frankly people, my head is a sick and dark place and while I need to get it out, not everyone that reads this is ready to face the void.

Hopefully this will lead to more stories, more posts and more readers that are titillated into reading something a little more kinky than they would have.

Putting the Sub in Subconscious

I have been hearing a lot lately about subs having very vivid, very obvious dreams. The kinds of dreams with so much obvious subtext that you don’t have to be Jung to understand it. It makes me think of when I dreamed. When I was much younger, I was a avid dreamer. Lucid dreams, prophetic dreams, subconscious dreams, even waking dreams were a part of my existence. There have been several changes in my life since then (less sleep, more stress, sleep apnea) that are probably far more realistic explanations to why I don’t dream nearly as much I used to but for the sake of this post and for aesthetic reasons I am going to stick to the idea that I am much more conscious of what I want and need than I was when I was 18.When I was growing up there were many things that I assumed were impossible. Things that had resigned myself to existing only in the imagination. It is one of the first things that we are taught by our families, by society; there is a difference between fantasy and reality. Some things exist (cheese, birds, oxygen) and some do not (Santa Claus, God, a chance that I will ever give a shit about sports). It was a way of fencing in the imagination and focusing our attention on those things that are real and can be changed. Flights of fancy are all fine and good but they are limited in their practicality. There are certain unreal things that are not worth spending your mental energy on. At the age of 16 I started to explore metaphysics and religion and while these ideas allowed me to be more creative in my thinking, they still seemed to be only metaphors, images that reality wore like ceremonial dress. They are not real in the real sense of the word. They were just ways of perceiving what is real more creatively. But they did allow me to explore the idea of changing the world around me through creative thought. I could imagine the world as I wanted it more vividly when it was wearing a metaphor than when I was staring at the naked reality that sat in front of me and so I pushed more and more to incorporate these metaphor images into my life.I became a writer. I began to read surrealist writers. I started looking for images, stories, fantasies that could be create from the world around me. The old women on Michigan Ave that wore long fur coats and read any book that Oprah suggested became savage hunters wearing their Mac cosmetics like war paint. The friends who drank and smoked and wasted their potential on unproductive philosophies became manifestations of the Buddha, or Christ and Krishna. I was seeing the world that I did not like in ceremonial clothes that were at least entertaining. The reality of it was that I was not changing the world, I was changing how I saw the world. I was imagining Hitler in his underwear; I was taking the things in life I feared or disliked and making them ridiculous.

Then I got married. I got serious. I became a father. I saw that I had to be responsible, mature. I let these images slide away and concentrated on that which was in front of me. I stopped writing. I got a job that paid well and wasn’t horrible. I started seeing the good in the real world. It was as if I had spend so many years looking out past the fence that kept real and unreal separated that I had never seen what this fenced in world was all about. I began to explore the real world and it was pretty good. Were there things missing? Sure, but that is life, not everything that you want is attainable. You accept this and then you move on. I could still have those fantasies, I could still live out my imagination within my head as long as I knew that was not the same as the real world.
“I can do that?” The question echoed through my head for the first several months after ZG and I came out as kinky and open. Here was a reality filled with acts and ideas that I had long ago relegated to the world of fantasy. Threesomes, multiple partners while remaining married, hurting and violating and degrading people were some of those long held dark fantasies that I allowed myself to think about because they were clearly outside the well defined borders of the real. Now they were being offered up as common place, not only as real but as nearly ordinary. The biggest revelation was that if these ideas that I had thought to be far beyond possible were not then what other things, ideas, desires were within reach? The truth is there is nothing out of reach. It is just a matter of want, determination and manifestation. If you can imagine it, it can be real.

Maybe this is what happened to my dreams. Maybe this fundamental shift in my understanding about the make-up of reality has brought my conscious and unconscious minds into sync removing the need for the subconscious to translate. The more you feel you have control the more you feel free to explore the reality of your wants. Perhaps this is the opposite of what is happening with the subs I know who have become so highly attuned to their subconscious dreams. Where I feel more in control of not only my life but my very reality, they have all but let go of their conscious mind, their needs to control and have become completely centered in their subconscious.

Diary of a Serial Killer

Note: No one was killed in the making of this scene. This is a write-up of a recent consensual roleplay scene. Also, because the narrator is a serial killer I thought it a bit out of character for him to do many of the things that I did, like clean wounds before and after needle play, use condoms and other safety equipment. To keep the intensity of the write-up where I wanted it, I took license in omitting a few things that we take for granted. Tertiary places and actions were changed to keep with the mood and flow and are not real representations of what actually happened. To anyone who may have seen the scene as it built, it would have seemed like any other night at the club, because that is in reality what it was.Traffic. It makes me see red. It makes me think that the world would be better off with fewer people. I try to control it, this urge to set the world on fire. It is not ok to think like that, my mother would say to me when I was a child and when I insisted that the best way to avoid sharing toys in daycare was to, “make them all go away.” So I have learned to suppress my rage, to hide the beast that I am behind a pleasant mask. The problem is that traffic erodes my mask and leaves me like a tiger behind bars of papier maché.

It was not common traffic. It seemed to be… misplaced, as if the traffic patterns were being affected by some outside force that was hell bent on me not getting to my date on time. Then I started to see the signs that my fears were true. The license plate of the car on my right gave me the first clue; IL 432 1300. There in the middle of the plate stood the number: thirteen. I looked to my left. There was another one this time with three M’s (thirteenth letter of the alphabet). This was no simple traffic jam. This was a conspiracy.

I went on trying to avoid the cars that were obviously flagged. I looked deeply into the souls of the drivers, looking for more signs. When the triskaidekians are blocking my path I know that they are trying to keep me from where I need to be. They take many different forms, hidden in plain sight as cars that cut off your exit, signs that are confusingly marked, people who pull you down into a void of insipid banter that suffocates your brain until it is no longer possible to think for yourself. This last form, manifesting as humans,is the most evil, the most insidious. It is the one that wears down the cage of my beast the most and are therefore the ones most often hurt when it gets free. These invaders are invisible to most, but I see them, the creature inside me sees them. It scares me to watch from within my own head, staring out of my own eyes as the dark soul that I share this body with stalks and destroys them. I cannot feel remorse for them, because I know the evil darkness of their goals. I know that the universe is a better place for each one removed.

When I finally arrived to pick up my date, traffic had already weakened my defenses. I was weak with frustration and her incessant yammering rained down like hail on the fragile glass shelter that was my sanity. Talk of people that she barely knew and how “nice” they were. Of families that existed in her mind from posed pictures,  of clothes and food without any understanding of what it meant to be really cold or hungry. I tried to pull my mind away. I tried to concentrate on the road, on the other cars, but all around me the thirteens were closing in. I felt as if I were trapped in the car with prey. I was being forced to take this girl as a sacrifice. I am not a fool. I know that this is not the way to handle the darkness. Spontaneous actions leave trails, leave clues, leave the police with so many questions that cannot be easily answered. So I play it safe and head to the Pier to keep us in public.

“So what do your friends and family think of you being on a blind date?” I hear the words coming out but I don’t remember thinking them.

“They don’t know,” she said with a mischievous smile. Really? She has left me this opening? I shake my head and reach for another cigarette to dull the senses that are starting to tingle.
I park close to the door, under a bright halogen light. If there had been a camera I would have parked under that. We get out and head immediately for the safety of the crowded boardwalk.

“Oh, let’s go on the Ferris Wheel!” She is excited and I am pulled along to the gondola. We climb on board and we are lifted slowly into the night sky. The isolation makes her more chatty. She talks about her mom and her dad. She talks about her pets growing up and why she named them what she did. She talks about her fifth grade teacher and how he snapped his gum and all the time I waited for us to reach the top. From there, the fall could be calculated as to make her hit most of the frame of the wheel before hitting the ground. I calculate the distance from my seat to the door. I could grab her by the hair with my right hand and the gate with my left and have her tossed from the gondola in a matter seconds. As I was lost in reverie I had not noticed that she had stopped talking. She was staring out over the city and for a moment, for one brief moment she looked beautiful, almost human. The top of the wheel came and went and she was still sitting next to me. She smiled and I think I smiled back.

At dinner she shifted again. She ordered the sloppiest most expensive item on the menu. She threw herself into the meal with abandon and talked throughout. The drinks were large and ostentatious with flashing lights and collectors cups. She ordered round after round and with each round pointed out more emphatically that she did not “put out” on the first date. This was said with red stains from the boiled shrimp around her mouth. It was not like she did not have manners. Most of the evening, she was well behaved but when we entered the franchised seafood restaurant with its southern, hands-on style, she seemed to absorb the artificial culture. Her language started to drawl and she drank sweet tea and called the waitress “Sugar.” It was as if her personality was made of a semipermeable membrane and could absorb the world around. She was empty like a sponge waiting to take in the nutrients from the surroundings. I watched with revulsion as she clapped along to the birthday song and whined for Key Lime pie. She ordered one more drink long after it was time to go and I decided that I really had no choice. The prison that kept the beast at bay was no longer there. Now all that stood between her and destruction was time.

I paid the check and with a smile asked if she was ready to go.

“Go where?” she is a little tipsy from the drinks but still thinking fairly rationally.

“A club.”

“What club?”

“A private club.” Her ears perked up. The singularity, the uniqueness of my offer gave her the push she needed. I helped her to her feet and kept my hand on the small of her back as I guided her through the mall. The awkward, morally aware soul that inhabits this body from time to time was gone. I was finally alone. Getting her to the club was going to be easy. She was a slightly inebriated, trusting soul that wanted to believe that there were no real monsters. As we moved farther and farther away from main shopping area, my hand moved from the small of her back to the nape of her neck. When we passed through the first set of doors into the small  hallway that separated the mall from the parking area, I grabbed tightly at her hair, stopped and spun her to meet me. I leaned in and kissed her hard, using her surprise as a way of getting through to her. She caught her breath and just as she started to push away, I released the kiss and turned to keep walking. I walked through the second set of doors, letting them swing open but not holding them for her. Her shoes clicked frantically as she tried to get through the swinging doors before they closed. I let her chase me all the way to the car, unlocking the doors but not opening hers. I hopped in and was buckling as she scrambled into the seat next to me.

We got to the club and I ordered drinks as she freshened up. I pulled a small vial of powder from my pocket and laced her drink. The bartender went about washing his glasses as if he saw nothing. She came back, a little stiff, a little scared of being hurt,  but more of being abandoned. I pushed the drink to her. She claimed that it tasted funny. I told her it was the city water. She began in again about how great her home in the suburbs had been. I can’t stand it anymore.

“Finish your drink.” She struggles to down the rest of it as the narcotic starts to take affect. She starts to lose focus and balance. I take her for a little tour of the club. It is a Friday night and the club is quiet. She starts to stagger, unsure of her feet. She leans back into me and then pushes off as if to play coy. I let her do this a couple more times as we make our way towards the private rooms in the back. At the entrance to our private room a sober shiver runs through her as she see the darkness inside. She stops and unconsciously backs away from the doorway but I am behind her and before she can say a word my arms are around her neck. Her hands come up but land lightly on my bicep and forearm. With a gagging squeak, her body goes limp.

I toss her unconscious body onto the couch face first, her ass propped up on awkwardly angled legs. I handcuff her hands behind her back and sit back a little, waiting for her to come to. The drugs make her come to slowly and I give her situation time to sink in. She scrambles to straighten herself up. She looks at me confused and a little angry. I slap her across the face, drawing focus into her eyes for just a moment.

“Can you hear me?” She does not say a word but cringes at the touch. There are so many things about this bitch that annoy me I don’t know where to start. Like a wrecking crew at the gates to the Mall of America I lick my lips at all that there is to destroy in front of me. I pull her to her feet without a word and start in on her personality.

“If I had to listen to one more minute of your chatter in the car, I swear to god, I was going to drive us into the river.” I’m gripping her tightly by the upper arm as I whisper this in her ear. I slap her face, watching her long black hair hide her eyes. I brush it aside to ensure that she sees me as I take her apart. “No one cares about your boring life.” (slap) “Nobody wants to hear how ‘nice’ your boss is.” (punch) “I could not care less whether your mom loved your sister more than you.” I spin her around and close my arm around her neck and squeeze until the gasping sounds come. Close in, I whisper softly in her ear, “Your life is fucking meaningless and if you had an ounce of self-awareness in you, you would see that. Her eyes roll back in her head, and as she falls I spin her to fall on her back onto the couch.

I drag her over the arm of the couch tilting her head back, forcing her mouth open. As she starts to come to again I wait for her head to start to move before shoving my cock into her mouth. The angle, the force and the choking all fight her urge to get away. She gags and tears fill her eyes.

“You go out on a blind date without telling anyone where you are going. You buy a new dress, new underwear. You proceed to talk about how you are not going to put out while proceeding to lean on me, brush up against me and generally tease me. Now tell me, are you surprised where you find yourself?” I pull my dick out of her mouth and wait for her to start speaking. She says nothing. I slap her hard across the face. “Answer me!” The rage is like a heat wave running through me as I feel it coming out of my pores as sweat. I am on fire as I want to peel her like grape and listen to her scream.

“I…” She stammers and I shove my dick back into her throat feeling her tonsils on either side of the head of my cock. She starts to get her feet under her as she tries to shift her angle and stop the assault anyways she can. I pull out and step back, putting my dick away as she gasps for air. Spit and and tears cover her face.

I pull her up to her feet by her arm and turn her to remove the cuffs. The abuse has affected her, sobering her up a bit and now is time for her to be broken of her hope and fight. After taking the cuffs off I relax and turn ever so slightly to give her the opening. She sees it and almost without conscious effort she starts for the door. My arm snaps out and grabs her by the hair. I throw her into the brick wall and laugh. My hand goes to her neck and I lean in again, breathing hot on her cheek. I feel her body goes limp and I let her fall into a pile. I step back and kick, catching her stomach with the top of my foot. A sound escapes as the air is forced from her lungs. She tries to curl up in to a fetal position but I dig the heel of my boot into her thighs, pushing them down.

“Get up.” She slowly gets to her hands and knees and I kick her in the cunt. She falls face first into the carpet. Her hand comes out as she tries again to come up and I step in feeling the bones move beneath the sole of my shoe. I grab her by the hair and pull her up, only shifting my weight of her hand after her arm had reached full extension. She held her arm limp as I squeezed her jaw and forced her to look into my eyes.

“Did you really think you had a chance?” She is looking right at me now shaking her head violently. She knows there is no way out except through me. “Do you want to go home?” She feverishly nods her head. Little pleases start coming out. “There is only one way out. Show me that you want me to let you go.” I reach down and undo the belt of her dress and put it around her neck. She is shaking as she tries to get naked. She sheds the last of her clothes and I let go of the belt, spin her around and slap her across the face. “Besides, even if you did get away, where would you go? Do you think anyone out there would stop me?” She looks over her shoulder towards the door that leads back to the main club. Suddenly, how far she has gone, how far she is from safety, sets in. She looks back at me with desperation in her eyes. I throw her back on the couch and turn to my bag.

I watch over my shoulder as she gauges the distance again. I give her my back as a way of tempting her into trying for the door. She lunges, on hands and knees, for the door and I contemplate for a minute letting her get to the bar and having the bartender and bouncer drag her back in but decide against it. I wait for her to almost reach the door before snatching her up by the hair. She screams as I throw her back on the couch. I lean in close and say, “Do that again and I will be fucking your corpse.”

I grab some rope and string her up by her wrists. There is nothing more perfect than the stripped victim before the real damage is done. It is like a clean canvas, an unmarked form waiting to be worked into something more. Her head hung down and her hair hid the fear in her face. I pulled it back and tied her head up by her hair.

“You are a cunt.” I spit the words out and watched as she flinched when they hit her. “I am going to use you like a cunt, but first you need to act like a cunt. What does a cunt do?” She says nothing and I reach up and squeeze her cheeks. “Well?”

“I… I don’t know.” She is almost in tears, but not quite.

“A cunt bleeds.” I unroll a string of thirteen needles and proceed to pierce her flesh, looking for vulnerable spots. Her skin was red and hot to the touch from the earlier tortures. As I look over the body and find where I want to put the needle I pinch and pull and slap the skin to bring even more blood to the surface. With casual torment I begin to slide the needles in, letting each slide in slowly watching the skin stretch, feeling it pop as it punctures. The screams come again, this time with sheer pain. I give each one room to exist on its own uncomplicated by the mixed pain of overlapping punctures. After putting in about six of the needles I start to ask her about her prudish composure.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” She shakes her head, closing her eyes tight to keep out the image of her wanting it. “If you want me to fuck you, all the pain can go away.” She looks up at me desperately.

“Please. Please fuck me.” The words are the verbal equivalent of her scramble for the door. I smile down at her.

“You are saying it, but you don’t mean it. You want me to stop the pain and are willing to be fucked for relief. That is not what I want. What I want is for you to want me to fuck you. I want you to beg me to fuck you because you long for it, long for me.”

“I do. Please fuck me.”

“No. Not yet.” I return to my work, finding new places to inflict sharp, exquisite pain.

After they are all in, I leave them in and leave her hanging for a while. The pain subsides and I want her to be refreshed when I start to pull them out. Each comes out with a twist releasing a small rivulet of blood. She is gone by now, lost in the pain, afraid that the slightest move will increase it. As the last one is pulled free I step back and look at her. The red lines accentuate her curves and define her body in ways that no clothing could. I take a few of the beads and smear them on her parched lips and on her cheeks. The look in her eyes says in no uncertain terms that she is now mine completely.

I untie her arms first leaving her nearly suspended by her hair. As I undo that knot she slips to her knees. I undo my belt and she looks up with anticipation. She wants to show me her gratitude, her desire and as soon and my dick is free, she consumes it with hunger.  I let her relish in her devotion for a moment before dragging her back to the sofa by her hair. I throw her over the armrest, pushing her legs apart and under her so she opens to me. I take a piece of medical tubing from my bag and wrap it around her neck. I pull her head up and enter her from behind. The sound escaping is a mixture of ecstasy and dying and I pull her back onto me over and over again. She tries to hold herself up by her arms, but as her world goes black they slip and she crashes down onto the couch. I release the tubing and let her gain consciousness again. She is coughing as she gets back onto her arms. I pull back again, violently pulling her into each thrust until again, her arms give out and she falls forward. Again I release and let her taste air for one last time. As she starts to move I pull the tubing again, this time as tight as possible. She starts to scramble for the hose with her hands and now she is completely held up by the tension. There is a convulsion as she dies and one last orgasm shakes throughout her. Her arms go limp and then her whole body. I keep her like that for a few seconds more to ensure that the struggle is out of her and I let go. She falls forward and I pull out. I pull the body back on the couch. The corpse stares lifelessly at the ceiling, the skin not yet cool. The blood all over it makes the scene that much more vivid, and in no time I feel the orgasm rising within me. The semen falls across her face and into her eyes that do not flinch or seek approval. They take it with the same apathy one would expect from tile on the bathroom floor.

I rest for a minute, sitting on the sofa next to the body, feeling the heat slip away and the joints begin to stiffen. When I have rested, I pull my clothes on and grab my bag. I go to the bar. I look at the bartender who gives me a knowing nod. There are reasons that you belong to a private club. In a matter of hours the room will be clean again and the night will proceed as if it had never happened. Well, except for the one more missing person report floating through the police bureaucracy.

Parlay

 Prologue: This story was inspired by the erotic musings of Fallen Depths though it takes a very different turn and has a different style. I recommend reading the original too. ~MN

She was the cruelest bitch to ever lay flint to powder; the dread pirate Annie McMayhem, queen of the seas. I had met up with her once before in a Malaysian smugglers den where she was fighting for gold teeth. On the table next to her bottle of rum sat a small pile of bloody gold canines and incisors. I knew then and there that this was not a cunt to cross.

We were three days out from the Fiji, heading east when our crow’s nest spotted her flag. We signaled her and pulled along side for Parlay. As I boarded the ship I heard a blood-curdling scream. A man, stripped naked to the waist was lashed to the aft mast; in front of him a small figure brandished a rapier. She was bald with a silk scarf keeping the sweat from her eyes. She wore an off white shirt open to her navel, exposing breasts casually to anyone brazen enough to stare, and one large hoop earring. One arm was capped at the wrist by a stainless steel dagger while the other lined up the rapier tip. She lunged forward at the man tied to the mast. The blade deflected off his jaw and into the wood. He screamed as if castrated. Tears ran down his face streaking the dirt.

Hold the fuck still you bilge rat or I won’t be able to pierce your ear!” McMayhem screamed. Someone appeared with a belt to strap his head to the mast. She lined up again and lunged. This time he screamed before she reached him. Her blade missed its mark and pierced his throat. The screaming died as blood filled his lungs. The blade had exited through the back of his neck and stuck tight to the mast. She gave it a pull but it didn’t budge. She put her foot on the dead man’s gut and blood spurt out as she twisted the rapier free. Victorious she wiped the blade on her shirt absent-mindedly. She looked up and saw me.

AHOY Nodi! You ole syphilitic sea turd! Is that a belayin’ pin in your britches, or are ya just happy to see me?” She leapt from the bridge of the boat and landed on the deck beside me. We hugged and sized each other up, looking for new scars since the last time we had met. She had a fresh scar, still pink on the left side of her face and three of her teeth were now made of ivory with sapphires set in them. The missing hand was not new but the stainless steel dagger was.

That’s quite a dagger ya got thar.” I said holding up my new steel hook. The same doctor had fitted both of them so they looked like evil sibling appendages.

Aye, and that a mighty nice patch!” she said, lifting it up to look at my newly vacant eye socket. “Ya lose that to the French?”

I laughed. “Arrrrg! I didn’t stop to ask the lout if he was French and his wife was otherwise too distracted to tell me when he barged in on us.” McMayhem giggled.

You, Nodi, are a whore.”

Right now I be a thirsty whore. Whatcha got to drink on this skiff?”

You’re in luck me heartie! We just plundered a Spanish galleon two days hence and filled our hole with bourbon and wine! Come, let’s drink!”

She led me to the Captain’s quarters. It was a spacious set of rooms with a sitting area occupied by a large round table scattered with maps, candles and the leftovers of several meals. With a sweep of her hand the table was cleared. A second mate brought me a chair while Annie sat in a high backed, red crushed velvet chair that was too big for her and the room but as she sat down she seemed to own in it. She put her foot up and tipped back in the chair.

Whiskey and grub!” She yelled and the echoing sound of people springing into action reverberated through the room. Supper was served by two beautiful servant wenches. Their eyes were constantly down-turned and any movement by the cap’n or myself made them flinch. As we drank we started to play with this fear; as one girl began pouring my drink I would sit up quickly as if preparing to grab her. She would flinch and stumble back toward McMayhem who would bolt up scaring the poor lass back my way. Back and forth a few more times, until the waif burst into tears and ran from the room. We burst into laughter each time we did it. Annie began to tell me about her girls, Dutch captives that had been missionaries in Africa.

They know more than missionary now!” She started giggling uncontrollably at her joke, pieces of food falling from her mouth. I spit bourbon across the table and tears welled up in my eyes. She calmed down and called in her first mate.

Bring me a four pound cannon shot.” He raced out of the room, passing one of the wenches as she entered with more wine. Annie grabbed her by the arm and pulled her in and across the table. The girl was barely eighteen with golden blonde hair and pleading blue eyes that stared at me. Her face was held down into a plate of half-eaten food and she let out a small whimper; she knew whatever was coming next was going to be nearly unbearable. The first mate returned with the shot. It was a iron ball just a little smaller than a grapefruit. McMayhem took it and called for the other one of the servant girl. When she came in, Annie handed her the ball and with her steel-daggered hand, lifted the pinned down girl’s dress exposing her soft white ass and using her good hand to anchor the wench by the neck. The smell of sex wafted from beneath her petty coats betraying her slutty desire.

“That’s the finest pirate booty I’ve ever laid eyes on!” I said with a sneer.

The second girl, who had a similar face and hair a shade darker, knelt almost reverently in front of Annie, turning the metal shot over in her hands. She let a long thread of saliva leave her lips to coat the ball. She then spit on her hand and rubbed the already wet cunt of the blonde. The blonde’s eyes closed as she let out a moan of pleasure.

I slammed my hook down on the table and her eyes were again wide with fear. “Ye look at me while she scrapes yar barnacles,” I hissed. She kept her sharp blue eyes on me as her fellow servant, possible sister, began to work the ball into her cunt. Her lips parted slightly showing the whiteness of her teeth as the stretching became tearing, and soon after became filling. The brunette finally passed the threshold and the ball disappeared into the blonde’s cunt.

Now ye hold it, me proud beauty or I’ll get me flogger!” barked McMayhem. She looked at the other girl, still on her knees. “Take off me pants.” The brunette undid the buttons and let the trousers fall. Underneath the pants McMayhem was wearing a harness with attachment points but nothing rigged to it.

Get me the ram rod,” she commanded and the brown haired wench nodded and crawled to a nearby chest. When she opened it there was almost a glow from the great variety of dildos inside. There were silver and gold and polished wooden ones with fine grains of yellow running through the black meat. There were thick and thin ones, long and short. The brunette pulled out a simple blue steel cylinder. She hooked it into Annie’s harness and started sucking it without being told. Once it was wet and glistened, the captain pulled the girl off of it and positioned herself behind the blonde. She directed her steel cock into the girl’s ass and very unceremoniously, she drove it home.

“RAMMING SPEED!” Annie roared.

The blonde, whose eyes had never stopped looking at me no matter where I was looking, screamed as the rod tore into her. McMayhem liked the sound and giggled as she picked up the pace. Faster and faster she sodomized the girl whose cries of pain started to melt away and turn into screams of pleasure.

Give this Sea Dog Hansel,” Annie offhandedly said to the girl on the floor. The wench had been enraptured in the fucking. She was caressing her breast and cunt absentmindedly. “Now!” Annie ordered and the girl jumped from her reverie and returned to the pleasure chest against the wall. She came back with a six-inch long statue of porcelain. It was a little Dutch boy with rosy cheeks and wooden shoes. The brunette adeptly removed my hook and replaced it with the figurine, and then with her eyes raised to me she slowly took the statue into her mouth, coating it with saliva. I took it out of her mouth, watching the line of spit trail from her swollen lips. I walked over to the blonde and she eagerly started licking at the wet figure.

Now, bring me Gretel.” The sweat was beading up as McMayhem continued to work the girl’s ass. There was a disappointed moan followed by a crash as the cannon shot finally fell from her overused cunt. The captain stopped.

You lazy whore! I’ve crushed seventeen men’s skulls between me thighs and you’re pussy is wider me ship’s beam!” She pulled out of the girl’s ass and picked up her rapier. “Ye know the punishment.” The blonde nodded, stood up slowly and turned over to lie on her back in the middle of the table while all the time, not for a moment, letting go of the Dutch boy that was my hand. She shifted her weight and moved back to get her whole body on the table. She brought her legs up and lifted her dress to expose her red and swollen cunt. A light fuzzy of blonde hair covered her like down feathers. Without a second of warning or preparation, the dread pirate brought the sword down across her labia. The girl screamed and bit down on the Dutch boy.

One,” said the brunette still on her knees, rubbing her clit. Annie slashed at the cunt again and again the blonde screamed.

Two,” her voice was getting more aroused.

Slash. Scream.

Three…” She was working her clit frantically. McMayhem shifts position to cut perpendicular to the last three.

Slash.

Four!”

Slash! The last one was with such gusto that the tip drew blood as it crossed the soaking wet pussy.

Five!” The brunette screaming in orgasm as the blonde cried in pain. Annie leaned in and kissed away the blood and licked the blonde’s swollen labia but before she could get the impression that all was wine and roses, she took her little Dutch girl and shoved it into the little Dutch girl. The little blonde was devouring the dildo in her mouth and in her cunt almost completely forgetting the pain from just a few minutes earlier. Annie fucked her hard and fast while I went for depth, reaching far down her throat.

Annie McMayhem giggled. “Let’s make ’em kiss!” There was an irresistible insanity in her eyes and we both started fucking our corresponding holes as deep as we could imagining that we would eventually meet somewhere in the middle of the bitch. She gagged and gasped and squirmed as the captain pushed up against the wenches cervix.

On the count of three, lift.” she said. “One, two, three!” We lifted her off the table by the dildos. Her hair hung down and her limbs hung limp but the small of her back was floating as if by magic.

Now that, is a spit roast!” By now the brunette was on the floor writhing uncontrollably.

It looks like your whores can’t control themselves.” I nodded at the mess on the floor and laughed.

She’s insatiable! However, most of my whores can fuck for hours without so much as a moan.” As she talked she motioned for the brunette to come closer. When she was near, the dread pirate rubbed her boot on the girls cunt, mixing the mud and salt with her cum. She lifted her foot and the brunette, like a starving dog, jumped up and started licking the mixture from her foot.

I don’t know,” I said. “I’m a thinkin’ I could get one of your whores to cum before I do.”

Bullshit!” She sneered and kicked the brunette away.

Care t’ make a wager?” I looked for that bit of crazy that would give me the advantage.

I’ll bet me best. No! I’ll bet better than me best!”

You’re on,” I said.

The dread pirate Annie McMayhem smiled and a twinkle filled her eyes. “Get Bridgette.” The order went out like ripples behind a massive stone being thrown into the water. The girls were cleared of the room and the table was broken down as to give the competition more room. Shortly after the room was prepared, a small hooded figure made her way to the open space. She removed her hood and I was instantly taken by her jet black hair and emerald eyes. She was an enchantress and I knew it.

Avast, me proud beauty! I be firing me cannon down through your porthole.” I growled.

I found a stool, sat down and called for a bottle. The blonde was on her knees at my side and I handed her a new attachment for my hand. It was two thin, slightly curved metal plates that came together in a duck’s bill. A small cord tied to the harness near my elbow allowed me to open and close it with a simple flex of the forearm. I stuck it in the blonde’s mouth and pried her teeth apart to test the mechanism. She moaned a little and I spit down her open throat.

“Bring me Moby Dick!” The dread pirate giggled as the brunette took a small wooden box from the larger chest. Inside was a scrimshaw dildo shaped like a sperm whale. There were rubies and diamonds embedded in it like petrified blood and sea spray. She put it into her harness and removed her shirt, now completely soaked in blood, sweat and cum. She made quite the sight standing there in only her boots, scarf and strap-on made of whalebone. Her nipples stood out like gumdrops, and thrust at the air. The brunette backed up and offered her cunt up to Annie, who fell upon the wench with renewed hunger.

“Let’s board these bitches Nodi!” she yelled as she fucked her captive. Bridgette lost no time, moving in close. Her hands were like snakes, seeking to wrap themselves around me until the found a place of weakness. I grabbed her hair, snapping her head back, pulling her mouth open ever so slightly. One hand was inside my shirt running up my side while the other wasted no time finding my cock. I opened the new clamp that was my right hand just far enough to take hold of her windpipe. She gasped and stepped backwards as I pushed her against a column. I let go of her hair, reach down and with a single movement pulled off my belt. I wrapped it around her neck and the post, cinching it to the point that she winced in pain. I watched as the color faded from her cheeks and her green eyes started to glaze before I released. She moaned and I secured the belt to hold her tightly without choking. I pulled off her robe and used it to tie her hands behind the post. I pushed her down onto her haunches, feet beneath her, knees spread. She was mouth level with my cock and stared at my crotch greedily. Her mouth opened and closed with her pouty lips quivering. I took the speculum hand and shoved it down her throat until her eyes were watering and then pulled it out covered in saliva and bile. I slid it into her cunt and spread it so I could easily reach her G-spot. Once inside her and pushing in her spot, I removed the speculum and put it back in her throat. In less than thirty seconds she was squirting all over the floor, crying gagging and convulsing.

“Thar she blows!” screamed Annie.

I stood up and pulled out my dick. While holding her mouth open with my speculum hand I pissed down Bridgette’s throat. She closed her eyes and drank thirstily. Annie put her boot against her brunette’s ass and pushed toward us. “Lick it up, slut!” I pulled up my pants and removed the belt from Bridgette’s neck.

Ye got quite the crew here,” I said as we dress and watch the brunette clean the floor. “Ye sure tha’ ye can part with one o’ them?”

The dread pirate Annie McMayhem giggled her evil giggle. “Aye, me have an even better bitch in mind for yar prize.”