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.

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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.”

Owning Your Darkness

There are levels to each and every person’s darkness; a sliding scale that ranges from the dulled colors of dusk to the depth of a black-hole where the very act of looking seems to strain the soul. We all have this scale and while some people never look past the fading colors of evening, many of us like to look deeper. I have been thinking a lot about my darkness lately and wondering what it is I would find if I stared into the singularity that is my darkest place. Why do we do this? Why do I want to know what my own personal evil is? I think there are many reason; knowing my own demons, exploring all of existence, Understanding. In this exploration I have found that my true darkness is a terrible place filled with reprehensible horrors but I do not regret the search. It is the act of searching, my willingness to look at the nature of human evil as it exists within me that gives me a better understanding of myself and humanity. Like the yin yang, it is in the darkest reaches of the soul that the seed of light can be found. It may be a little woo, but that does not make it any less true.

I have found in my darkest places a desire for the threshold moment. That event or point in time when life is forever changed. I fantasize about rape and murder, about innocence lost. I see myself there when the victim realizes what they thought was the bottom is nothing more than an illusion. She sees that no matter how cruel and heartless she thought the world could be, it is far far more cruel and heartless. My heart races, my face flushes, my mind reels at the idea that this is the moment when she will never be the same again. It is exhilarating to feel, saddening and life affirming all at once. I am in that moment the epitome of evil. I am destroying another person’s life. I feel so…alive.

So what is it that keeps me from making these moments real? What is it that keeps me from raping and murdering, from destroying lives in reality like I do in fantasy? Part of it is social morals and the rule of law but more than that I think I am held in check by my love of the exploration. It is the act of expanding understanding and existence that I like which is to say not only do I want to see the worst but also the very best. It is through this darkness that I can see that helping people discover their true selves is one of the most rewarding aspects of reality. If I play with someone who wants to relive or live out some dark moment, who wants to be raped to better understand the powerlessness of the situation, who wants to feel that moment when they go from innocent to aware I am able to broach the moment with another person and together we will see the darkness but also the light. We are both hurting and helping each other. She is my victim and I am her assaulter. She is my partner in that moment and is giving me a gift which is as light-bearing an act as there is. Likewise, I am helping her by being both the dark and menacing violator and a non-judgmental accomplice allowing her to explore her own darkness. It is the beauty of consensual edgeplay. We are both giving and getting that darkness that rounds out reality.

It is because I know what I am looking for, because I know which direction my darkness lies that I am able to explore life more completely. I know how dark my soul can get and this allows me to better understand myself and others. I love it and yes, it is a little woo but there you have it. It is not for everyone and not everyone’s darkness is the same but it is part of who I am and I am ok with that.

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.

This is what happened.

First read ZG’s appeal: Do you know what I did last night?!?

It starts out simple enough. You are bruised and beaten about the chest and thighs, leaving little meat to play with RBP-style. No problem, I have other ways of making you uncomfortable. I run through the list, seeing what might be fun for both of us. Negotiations can be a real pain in the ass (or not) when playing with your SO. You can lay together, all lovey-dovey, and coo sweet nothings about how there are no limits between the two of us and all is fine and good… until I try and sleep with your sister. I guess we do have a few limits, don’t we? So back and forth we go. I tell you what I am going to do, you give me that look that says, “Really? That is what you want to do tonight?” Eventually we land on psychological play. Brilliant! After that little passive aggressive banter about what we both want, I really feel like making you cry.

I fix you a drink. A nice strong French Martini and sit down to chat and perv on FL while you drink it. Just before getting up to go play, I head out for a cigarette and you join me. You say, “Can I have another drink? The smoke makes my throat scratchy.”

Hmmmmm… If I make you another drink it will mean waiting until you drink it to play (est. 20 min) but it will also mean that you are drunk and fucking a drunk ZG is like playing with a drunk sorority girl, all bets are off. So I make you another drink. Ten minutes into your second drink I am ready to go, so I tell you to pound the drink. You obey like a good like alcohol-soaked slut, put the glass down in my hand and start down the hall towards our bedroom. There is a very visible list to left as you stumble along. I take the glass to the kitchen and head down the hall behind you.

I open the door to the bedroom and you are laying across the bed half drunkenly, half seductively. You are wearing a sleeping dress and no panties so your ass is sticking out, just asking to be played with. I pull you up to your knees and start to undress you like a fuck toy. You are falling into the role, leaving you arms where I put them and not moving as I roughly remove your clothes. While your body is behaving, you mouth is not and you start to sass about the way I am handling you. You say that I’m not being nice, that I’m being mean.

Duh.

I grab the Whitehead gag and put it into your mouth. You refuse to open up and I force your jaws apart to the point you let out a little whimper. I take a hood and put it over your head and then push you down into the pillow and smack your ass until it is high enough in the air to put undue strain on your face and neck when I fuck the living shit out of you. I tie your arms behind your back and weave the excess rope between your toes. You love that shit.

I start you off by fingering your G-spot and pushing you closer and closer to orgasm while telling you not to cum. You start begging and after a few minutes I think you are primed so I pull the fingers out. What a wet mess. I let you rest for a moment and start in with the verbal abuse.

One of the biggest challenges that we have experienced with mindfucking in the past is that you know me and I know you, and the certain level of doubt and fear that is needed to really get a game going is often hard for us to reach. Part of this is because you trust me implicitly and have faith in our relationship, so most threats and verbal attacks ring hollow. Add to this that most of the times we’ve played with psychological sadism has been in connection with jealousy or anger play, so when the words do ring true they have a tendency to ring very true. But we are nothing if not persistent, so onward I push. I start in easy.

You are wet as all hell so I ask why you always want to play drunk or while you are asleep. Is it because you can’t stand me? Because you can’t get wet? Is your cunt broken or just your brain?

Soft whimpers. Okay, this is good. You are getting nervous about where we are going. You have a date in a few days and I ask you about him. Is he going to fuck you? You know he doesn’t want to fuck you. Nobody wants to fuck you. You are so desperate you might as well ask people on the street to fuck you. Protests and whines come through the gag.

Has he called you? No, because he is too busy with other girls! You know he’s playing with other people that he would rather fuck. You know how many of them he would prefer to fuck than you? All of them!

You fold. The whining stops. Your face turns down at the corners of your mouth. The gag is starting to affect how well I can read your reactions, so I take it off and ramp up the questions in search of those precious tears. So if X is not interested in fucking you. What about Y? Is he even interested in fucking you? You know he fucks everyone. What makes you so special? One of your partners doesn’t want to fuck you and the other doesn’t care. Where does that leave you?

You sink lower and lower and just as we verge on tears you get quiet. I slap your ass and punch your thighs. You moan and whimper. I take a little break to fuck you. You are a mess. Wet as hell and waiting so I lay into you. As I feel the urge to cum rising, I pull out. My dick is covered in blood.

You dirty little whore! You are bleeding all over me. You groan with embarrassment. I have you lift your head and suck me clean. You like the taste of that? You think your other partners like the taste of that, the smell of that? You are a mess and no one wants to play with you! I pull out a sheet that is for just such occasions and make you lay on your back with your arms pinned beneath. You wriggle around trying to get centered on the sheet and not ruin our bedding. I slap you a couple of times to make you move faster. You finally get squared away and I climb back on top and fuck you some more making sure that you know how thoroughly disgusted I am. You fall into the fucking and lose yourself. This is all hot and good, but it is not getting us where we want to be, which is with you as a tear-soaked mess and me cumming on your face. What I need to do is get off the physical humiliation and start working on the harder psychological aspects.

What do you bring to a playdate other than tits and a high pain threshold? No response. I throw in some more abuse to get a reaction.

You know you are being left behind for other girls, don’t you? Nothing. More beating, spanking and general abuse to prime your body and counterpoint the emotional with the physical.

You know you can’t get anyone you play with hard? Slap! Zip. You know you are unattractive? Punch! Zilch. You know you are selfish, you’re ruining our marriage, you’re a bad mother!!! Bite, scratch, punch! Crickets. Silence.

You have gone inside yourself so deeply that you have completely shut down. I am not sure if I should consider this a win or a loss. I mean the point was to break you, right? What is more broken than catatonia? The problem is that while you may be broken, I really want the tears, the bawling, the warped sad ugly face that means that you have lost all sense of self. I need to snap you out of it so I can get behind you and fuck you some more.

Hard, cervix-bruising fucking accessorized with punches to the ass and thighs. I grab the rope holding your arms and force you back onto me harder and harder. I tell you to push back, to work at it for a change, and you make a feeble attempt to push back. I pull out and jump off the bed.

Fuck it! You don’t want to try I will find someone who will! I pull on my pants and grab my phone. I storm out of the room, slamming the door as well as I can without waking up everyone in our building. I head out to the kitchen and turn on the chime for the security system so you can hear the back door opening as I leave. I walk quietly back up the hallway listening for signs of life. Nothing. I open the door and you are in the same position that I left you. Un-fucking-believable.

Are you asleep?!? Are you that jaded, that much of a whore, that you don’t even notice when I’m gone? You try to argue and tell me that you are awake. Then what the fuck happened? You don’t care whether I am here or not? You stupid cunt! I untie your legs and arms and turn you over. Your head goes back and smacks the foot of the bed with a thud. I laugh and pull you back onto the bed and fold you in half touching your knees to your chest. I grab your hair and try to rip clumps of it out with every thrust. You grimace and gasp. Does that hurt? I am hoping you say yes, but you say no and I realize that you are too gone to even feel anything. I think it’s time to finish this off.

I turn you over and have you put your arms under you in the classic molester missionary style. I grab your shoulders and continue to fuck you. The mess between you legs is insane, wet beyond belief. You are enjoying this way too much, so I pull out and drive into your ass. You gasp and I quickly get up a good pace. Again the whimpering starts and again I ask if it hurts. Again, you say no. Dear god, bitch, you are insatiable! I speed up and cum hard in your ass and then before you have a chance to catch your breath I start again, redoubling my efforts for a second orgasm deep in your ass. And. I. Am. Done.

I get up and go to bathroom to clean up leaving you laying in the middle of the bed with cum slowly dripping from your ass. When I come back I have to get you up and put your head on the pillow at the other end of the bed. You take the cue and roll out of bed to get cleaned up. I lay down and quickly fall into an orgasm-induced coma.

A Sadist’s Tango

Two thoughts have been wandering about in my head as of late; one is about how I reconcile the person I am while playing with the person I am when I am not, and the other is how much my desire to hurt and dominate have grown now that I have allowed myself to feel this way. The former is connected to the D/s power exchange, but specifically in how it pertains to non-scene reality. The latter is about power itself, about being in control and taking what I want with a sense of satisfaction in that victory. This growing desire to hurt and my conflicting desire to not lose track of my socially acceptable self in this rising tide dance around each other. I wonder if there is a way to keep them in balance where they can coexist peaceably, or if someday one or the other will win out.

I am addicted to the look of terror. Eyes lit up with fear, involuntary spasms brought about by the deepest parts of the reptilian brain stem pushing for fight or flight, screams that rise without conscious awareness, these are the moments in a scene that I find the most attractive. Seeing a sub lose control of herself while I remain calm and collected is so alluring. The power exchange and the feeling of control is like a drug, creating actions that would be unacceptable in any other context. It is not just the physical games either, domination through verbal and psychological humiliation is verging on a fetish for me. Don’t get me wrong, I am very comfortable with these thoughts when I am in scene but after the scene is over and I am coming down I start to wonder about what I want and whether it is seeping into my daily life. I do not want to be an asshole all the time. I like that people like me, and for the most part I think I am a nice person, but there are times when the nice guy loses out in my thoughts to the asshole. While I am still being the nice guy, I’m finding that I have a harder and harder time actually wanting to be the nice guy.

Why? I want to be compassionate, I want to give a shit. I want to help people and feel for them but frankly I find it hard to put up with what I see as bullshit. At work, I am less likely to accept the sob story from guy who is chronically late. When negotiating a scene I am thinking of what I will get out of the scene, not just what I can bring to it and afterwards I am more prone to cut my losses if I was not turned on or got off. I used to let it go. I would let the new guy at work off with a warning when he told me about how his car broke down again or how it was his brother that was in the gang, not him. I would allow the sub to get too attached and avoid the discomfort of telling her that it wasn’t working. Now I just cut it off. It is as if I don’t have time for the crap, for the drama. Maybe that is true, but that does not mean I have to be an asshole about it.

The real problem is that I kind of like being the asshole. I like being mean, but I know that this is the fastest way to loneliness. If I am the asshole then no one is going to want to be around me. I like being around people, I like talking to people, hearing what they have to say and hearing their opinions, so the idea of isolating myself with my asshole-ish tendencies terrifies me.

So how do I do it? How do I explore the dark places that really turn me on without letting that darkness bleed into my everyday existence?

On the Ride Home

She hit me. Not hard, not maliciously, but with a joking sense of dare, she hit me. I looked at her and she smiled that smile that says, “I have no idea what I am in for…” I reached up and petted her head, running my fingers up the nape of her neck until they held the back of her skull. I closed them into a fist and pulled down hard. Her eyes closed as she melted into the seat. I pulled her closer to me. We are on Congress at the post office. The road narrows to one lane as it goes over the river, concrete barriers on either side as we drive through a hole in the side of a building large enough to have its own zip code.

“Open your eyes,” I said. “One of us has to watch the road and I am watching you.” She tensed up as we pass through and I-290 opens up on the other side. I had her stick her hand in her pants to see if she was wet. Hell yes. Instant mess. I had her stick her hand down her throat which was pretty easy since I had her head pulled back like a sword swallower. She got most of it in and started to gag. I had her pull it out and start masturbating.

“Think of this. Think of now when you go home. This is what you are missing. This is why you are moving back. This is what you want, what I want. This is what we do.” Now we are going about 60 and her exit is coming up quick.

“Cum now.” She picks up the pace and starts to let out those little lost girl sounds, that whimpering that makes me… As she starts to cum, I pull back on her hair hard making her scream in pain at the same time. Again and again I pulled on her hair as she shook through a fairly nice little orgasm.

I looped around to drop her off in front of her sister’s house and to give her a little time to pull herself together. We stopped in front of the house and chatted for a bit before she went to get out of the car. She leaned over and hit me on the shoulder. Some bitches will never learn.