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Old 02-10-2012, 04:20 AM   #101
Dramaticflare
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When Denze first heard her voice, it was when Denz crossed the deep fog seperating the cursed kingdom from the rest of the world. Long had myths told of the fog, which no one crossed in or out of. One man crossed out, and told tales of such depravity and hellishness we refused to believe. But he also told stories of power, massive power, which drew even some of the most cynical into his tale. And Denz' father believed. He left with the first. Denz' brother believed. He left soon after. When Denz became a man, he did not believe, but Denz went despite this fact. His house had become a ruin without leadership and Denz had no where else to go.
Denz went for rertribution at first, to demand of his family why they abandoned his mother and himself to the cruels machinations of the other nobles who stole their lands. But halfway through the fog, he heard her voice and saw her creature the first gate through which he stepped. Her voice didn't change his mood, just the land beyond.
He learned of the curse that demons had laid upon the men of the kingdom, and the others who traversed the fog. The demons stole a man's soul, and only left screaming madness. Even as he stepped through the gate an naked wretch of a man charged him out the darkness, trying to regain a semblance of what had been taken from him. And he fought that wretch, and others.
Then there was the demon that killed him. But his soul was not stolen, for he heard her voice again and it beckoned stronger than the demon's cruel will. Denz was summoned, and so he came.
In her own. wretched way, she was beautful. No one knew who she was, she was simply called the maiden. She had the power to improve and clarify the souls of those around her, though it took more and more souls to do so. If you killed the demons, you could have their souls, and so Denz did. Denz no longer wanted revenge. he wanted to survive, to get away from this cursed kingdom and to take the maiden with him.
But, though the maiden was blind, she saw all, and as Denz became stronger she disappeared. Denz started hunting.
He has been hunting since.
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Old 02-10-2012, 05:17 AM   #102
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There was a speakeasy in the old part of Chicago, coloquially called the undercity. It was technically true, considering Chicago had been completely built over; skyscrapers and all. Rachael worked one of the factories in the undercity making various metal casts of the parts needed to keep the airships floating. Steam could only go so far without gears to power.
Absentmindedly, Rachael dodged a trio of steamcarriages while crossing the street. They were getting more and more common now, and horses less and less so. It was the changing of an era, and Rachael was part of the dust being swept under the rug. She might have made more noise if it didn't take so much just to keep living these days.
For this reason, she was thankful for the Old Ways speakeasy. It wasn't legal, and talking about it was generally forbidden by those who knew of it, but a drink after working twelve hours at least kept her going. She opened the door to the speakeasy and was comforted by the smells within.
They were not the smells of coal, steam, and iron she was used to. These wer older, woodier smells and even the rare incense. Whoever owned this bar had money, and the owner was the quietly efficient bartender. Rachael has been intimate with him twice but he was always reserved. She suspected there was more to him than what she saw but she could never be sure. It was just that every so often the fire built up deep within her and she took it out on his willing form. He had always been generous with her; perhaps he recognized a battered soul.
"Greeting and salutations," she lobbied in his direction as she sat at the bar. Markus simply nodded and poured an unmarked drink, then passed it down the table.
The speakeasy was rather quite. There was the ever present hum of the machines nearby, of course, and the whisper of the other two patrons. But otherwise things seemed, tense and calm at once, like the moment before one of the storms of her childhood in Iowa.
Markus could feel it too, she saw. He moved with a crispness and economy of motion she only saw on busy nights. Every motion he made was only the ones he had too. Rachael felt like she was watching a statue come to life, but so unlinke the soulless automotonic butlers the rich had. He was art, and certainly the master of something. At the very least, even if he didn't claim it, he was the master of Rachael.
Rachael broke from her reverie as a great thump landed outside. Markus put down his glass and rag and looked ath Rachael meaningfully. "Go out the back." Rachael felt her stomach drop.
The other two patrons heard his words and reacted upon them, grabbing their overcoats and hats. But Rachael's body rebelled , and her hands gripped the counter like thge specter of death himself had come to claim her. Then the entire front wall was ripped away by man in a mechapod suit.
"Please excuse the intrusion," spoke the man whose head was outside the armored mechapod, even topped with a bowler at what he must have imagined to be a rackish angle, "But I have been informed there is an illegal front for the sale of liquor here. Markus Baseman, we have questions for you."
Rachael felt her mind flying past many different observations with no time to distinguish or process any of them. She had just learned Markus' last name. There was no way Mechapods would be sent after just any speakeasy. She had always believed there was more to Markus than she saw. Also, Markus was faster any man she had seen. He had already hopped the bar and faced off against the mechapod who had chucked the wall down and was preparing a punch. Two other mechapods, with helmets, were visible through the dust behind the first.
"Markus!" Rachael screamed as the punch came down. But fluidly, like with a life borr of pratice, Markus had jumped clean over the approaching arm and landed on the elbow of the machine. He rounded the operator's face when he turned and saw, just for a moment, Rachael standing entranced.
"Go." he shouted without emotion. He grabbed the operator's nose and pulled back malicious, causing the great armored lumox to flail about wildly and prevent his two allies from getting close enough to help.
Rachael, suddenly finding the will to overcome her confusion and terror, forced herself down the bar and out the back door where she found a number of normal policemen standing with guns raised. The two other patrons had already been cuffed down and were being loaded into a steamcarriage. She felt hands at her back forcing her down as she screamed and screamed for Markus.
But Markus couldn't hear her over the din he himself was creating by murdering one of his oldest nemesises, even as he killed himself too.
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Old 02-10-2012, 05:22 AM   #103
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I am like iron
An unbreakable metal
A powerful thing

we, my cock, and I
I rule this moment in time
I rule her as well.

There's serenity
In the mastery of of her
In her primal force

I revel in this
The position I am in
I have made beauty

Ruling this moment
Is art in and of itself
But only for now
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Old 02-29-2012, 07:42 PM   #104
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Winter Queen

There is a sense of heat.

Odd, that, here in the lands of Winter's cold. Here in this place~ true heat is a little known thing, a passing fancy~fantasy, fallacy. An odd bit of legendary lore that only the great ones, the old ones of before, know about.

The earliest queens, before insanity led them to the never never and the past princess stepped up to take over, they knew of this heat. They knew of the darkness that snows only accented, never hid.

People, those of the mortal realm, make an assumption based on a lie.

That Summer and Winter are the whole of the thing...with no bits or pieces left over. As if.

There is more to the courts than Winter/Summer, Seelie/UnSeelie. There is more to a Queen than the time of the year, the magicks she controls, the Fae she commands.

There is a love.

Maybe not pure nor true.

But it is there.

In each lash given in punishment.

In each piece of flesh torn asunder and joined anew.

In each breath granted, even after the punishment has ended.

When the punishment ends.

If the punishment ends.

Even THAT is a gift of caring and it burns. Melting away the cold and snow and pain of trust shattered by some one's inability to be true. To stay focused. To get the job done.

The queens of Winter understand this. Relish it...and use it.

Because a cold love...is better than no love at all.

And a body mended needs to be broken, reformed, renewed...so that the love can be proven.

Again.

Again.

It's what keeps away the coldness, after all.

And no one does cold love...like Winter's Queen.


dedicated to a returning Knight
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Old 03-06-2012, 02:25 PM   #105
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A rant

I should not have to say this. I should not have to use words to point out to any one the facts as I see them. Yet, you make it difficult. You make it so that I can not escape into the solitude of my brain and ignore the nagging, drowning sounds of aborted birth.

Creative pangs of destruction.

Ruinous villains, one and all.

Why do you pick and prod and poke at things better left unstated. Why?

You ask. You moan. You bitch and complain and generally leave me feeling as if I have been bitten by a vampire bat, filled with the blood of thousands of cattle, passing on your sadness to me.

Fucking psy-vamp.

A symbiotic creature who gives nothing in return, only takes and takes and takes. Leaving me bloated with this unreasoning rage, this stupid anger that I can not turn off, only aim it like a laser, a spot light, at the things you do.

The things you believe.

The account you have given is dry with no morality.

And you scream I am sorry into the abyss that my heart has become and wonder why?

How the fuck can you even ask?

You are useless, worthless, greedy.

A dried up little speck of a person whose only claim to fame is the fact that you fathered me..or fucked me...or knew some one who once wanted to be me. You can not point at me and say

This is what you do. This is who you are.

Because I do not fit your picture of what I should be, could be.

I am all of that and more.

I am all of that and less.

I am the whole of thing and none of the thing, but it is by my choice and has nothing, absolutely NOTHING, to do with you. So stop trying to take the congratulations for the things you did not create.

You are not the creator of me.

I am the creatrix of ME...and you do not get to win.

Because you do not get to put me in a box and keep me there.

I will not allow it.

You are not worth it.

The collective you.

All of you.

None of you.
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Old 03-06-2012, 06:38 PM   #106
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Morning Glory

There is only a moment, just before the full moon (a moon that is ALWAYS full, here in the NEVER NEVER) sets~ that the pain of her punishment wrecks her outer composure. It is in THAT moment that she worries about what will become of him, this knight who no longer wants to wear her mantle. A knight who no longer wholly belongs to her.

Then the moon goes beneath the mountains and the sun makes it's way up, becoming ascendant in Winter's cold day light. That moment is pushed away. Hidden beneath the icy demeanor she wears like a skin. A pantomime that travels all the way down, to the heart of her. It is pushed away to be consumed by the icy anger she burns with. The anger that is part and parcel of what she IS.

Once that happens? She strides forth. Skin as pale as the winter snows that claim her land. Eyes darker than ivy~green and glittering with delight. Hair black as pitch, twined and twisted through with holly leaves and bells. She is Winter's queen...and this morning is filled with her glory.

His pain.

Her glory.

The first ragged breath as his lungs respond to her nearness.

That first kiss of color as her hands~oh so pale, oh so delicate~reach out for him, holding him to her, helping him to his feet so that she can use the icicle blade she has fashioned to drag blood to his bloodless skin.

There.

And there.

Right there.

Pin pricks of delight that leaves runnels in his wasted flesh.

And her smile is loving.

And her kiss is soft.

Even as his intestines slither away from the confines of his belly and land...

*PLOP, PLOP, PLOP*

by her feet.

Because it is morning...and she is in her glory.
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Old 03-08-2012, 09:07 PM   #107
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Chopped Steak

Sometimes I wonder why I come here. Why I sit down, to drink watered down drinks, eat poorly made food, and listen to self-gratifying, over macho men. Who think this place is a the key to their heterosexuality. All that and the stage is badly lit too.

I tell myself it is for the women. Plural. That like everyone else I come to see the girls. Watch them on display. To wave dollar bills at them, and see what should be kept hidden. To be titillated, and aroused. I am not. Almost never. But I come here every other night. and I will be honest, it's for her.

She's the only reason why anyone should be coming. It is not so much how she looks. Though that is phenomenal. Creamy Cocoa butter skin. Perfect curves. Just enough muscle to look dangerous. Predatory even. Kinky short hair, and a smile to make all the short hairs on your neck stand up. I didn't even know her name.

She seemed to dance only when she wanted, but she loved her audience. It was obvious that she may not have liked all of us, but she specially adored what she could do. I don't think it was power, but someone called it love. I don't think it was that either. Not for all of us.

I buy private dances. Three song minimum. Forty a song, and whatever you tip. I get the feeling she would dance all night long so long as I watched her. And I would. Forty dollars a song. Following each gorgeous swell, each cresting wave of her body. No touching. Always in the end. I leave. Wanting, wishing, and watching her smile. I feel I am the one leaving naked, and that she watches me go. Like a hungry wolf.

Watching her piece of meat.
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Old 03-15-2012, 09:35 PM   #108
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Runaway

She darts from street to street, hiding from the man who claims her as his.

His property.

His cash cow.

His to abuse, use, run, own, beat.

She runs~trying to avoid the pain, the self recriminations for her own stupidity, her need to feel loved, valued, wanted, cared for.

Her pussy pays her way.

But isn't the way of the world?

Those who live in nice houses, with good jobs and loving children? Those who have never abused, never mistreated, never been told that they are useless, worthless~only good for a fuck and suck? Well, those people might not agree.

Because~ her truth is not their truth.

Her pain is not their pain.

Her knowledge, her body, her self esteem?

Those do not belong to them, either.

Those things are only hers~or the girls and boys like her.

Those young men and women who only know love when they are doing what is asked of them by those who are responsible for keeping them docile, keeping them focused, keeping them flat on their backs. Parents, rapists, pimps, bullies, abusers, molesters. Those in authority.

But she is not those others and she will not stay down.

She runs...from street to street. Heart pounding, loud enough to drown out the low wail of fear that is shrieking in her mind like a tea kettle. And just when she thinks she is close to escape? Just when she thinks that THIS time will be different? Just when she believes that she is safe.

Here comes her daddy to take her home.

Because running in your mind isn't the same as leaving in the real world.

And she is only running so she doesn't break, this time.


"C'mon, baby girl. Daddy has some candy for you...so quit being a bitch and get in the car..."

So she does...

and no one can hear the footsteps echoing on the sidewalk of her imagination.

Only her.
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Old 03-18-2012, 03:59 PM   #109
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A Queen's Command



Long Before

He used to value her opinion above all others. He used to want to please her in every way, ANY way. Things have slowly changed. He had risen above his station, had begun to think of himself as untouchable~ as something other than her lap dog, her knight.

That is not to be allowed. Ever. She will not appear weak in front of her court. She will NOT allow a mere mortal to draw the lines on how and where and with whom he will serve. He WILL NOT undermine her authority.

Not So Long Ago

"You will serve in the ErlKing's court. Madrigal would like to...taste, test, your mettle."

The voice was chill, the words~ barely a whisper in the great hall. She watched as his head flew up, piercing eyes focused upon her face. He could not see the pain those words caused her. He could not see that she hated having to say them, to him.

And even if he had been able to see it, it shouldn't matter.

She was his Queen and her word was LAW.

"No, my Lady. I do not wish to go."

His reaction? It was not appropriate in any open court. His reaction was wrong, even if it brought a gladness to her heart that she would not, could not, show. His reaction, could cause...contention. It did cause embarrassment.

From the shadows she heard the beginnings of laughter. The gladness, though hidden, was consumed by an icy fury. That fury brought her to her feet. That fury brought her down the steps of her dais. That fury? Brought her to stand still before him, her hand a clawed weapon that snatched him forward and flung him to the ground, at her feet.

"What did you say to me, you petulant brat?"

The laughter had stopped. The murmurs, as well. The cavern, the great hall, was silent, so very silent.

"Who will protect you as I do?"

His words were muffled.

Slim clawed fingers dove into his hair, twined and twisted, pulled. Using his hair as leverage? She brought him up, to his knees. The empty hand crashed into his face, a whip crack of sound in the silence. Once, twice. Thrice.

"I protect me, you worm. You are only here by my sufferance or have you forgotten?"

He had no words. His head~ bowed. The paleness of his flesh was a marked contrast to the red hand prints that painted his chiseled features. She could feel his trembling limbs. She could practically taste the words he bit back~but bite them back, he did.

"Again, I say to you...you will serve in the ErlKing's court. What say you?"

He whispered~"Yes, my queen."

And it was almost good enough.

One Week Ago

"He refused to sleep with Madrigal. Will you allow this to remain? He has dishonored my house and our covenant."

The Queen could not make herself look at the pitiful male before her~stripped of his official garb, beaten, battered, bloody. She did not want to hurt him further. She did NOT want him to feel even more despair., but he had left neither of them a choice. No choice at all.

He was her knight. He had disobeyed a direct order. He had to be punished.

For embarrassing her.

For ignoring her command.

For knowing that she loved him above all others...and thinking it would save him.

"We will convene the trial as soon as the elder's are gathered. Take him away."
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Old 03-26-2012, 08:32 AM   #110
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Protected

Words are very insufficient sometimes. Labels fail. She was the first person to acknowledge that fact. I tried to define what were early on in our relationship, but she silenced me, kissing me and picking me up, tossing me onto the bed.

"Don't think, don't define, just be with me," she had said, and then spent hours making me forget my train of thought. I never mentioned labels again. Her aura was just to powerful to ignore; her skill in the bedroom to amazing.

We did talk about things, sometimes some very emotional parts of our lives, but always after sex and never before. A time and place for those things, she always said. How could I disagree? Not when she seemed to read my mind the moment from I entered her apartment to the moment I left. It scared me sometimes, how well she seemed to understand me. So often our time was based on sex, but when I came to her in an upset state, there was no mention of stripping, or fingers or even kisses. She would gather me in her arms and hold me as I cried.

She was the protector, I the protected. It worked. There was never enough time, or enough of a deep connection for love, but both of us understood that. That understanding allowed us to completely relax, be at piece, and really explore each other.

****************

This time, she had given me instructions. It was rare, but definitely a part of our connection. We were both givers, she a top, me a bottom. I arrived at her apartment in my work attire: cream blouse, black pencil skirt, nude bra and thong, 2-inch heels. I was to disrobe, leave my clothes by the door and walk back naked. I would know what to do when I reached the bedroom.

Soft music was playing, with a slow, throbbing bass beat, no lyrics, just rhythm, like a heartbeat. I felt cool air blowing through the window as I reached the bedroom door. A single candle flicked on the hardwood floor, between she and me. She was laying on the bed, uncovered by the sheets, wearing a simple black bra and boyshorts. Her dark eyes were on me, waiting.

There was no lust, not tension in the air. Her scent reached my nose, deep, warm; an earthiness that I loved. Her eyes flicked to the candle and back to me, and I understood. I took several purposeful steps forward, to the side of the candle and knelt. I shifted one knee out, so that my thighs were parted, the candle flame and covering my core. I placed my hands, palm up on my thighs, my back became straight and I met her eyes again.

A smile, small, but genuine and gentle graced her lips. I breathed deeply, just like she did. We looked at each other. The inner tension I had felt during the day was fading as I concentrated on her, and on not moving a muscle. This wasn't something she had trained in me; I had known it before. The minutes stretched out, but I didn't tire. I could do this for some time, and she knew it. The candle kept burning, close enough that I could feel it's heat against my skin.

Eventually, she gave the slightest nod and I rose. My legs did feel slightly shaky as I approached, but my eyes never left her. I knew what was next. Her arm raised, and as I met the edge of the bed, I turned, and sat down. I fell slowly to the bed and curled up, molding myself to her body. A slight murmuring told me that I had understood and her arm wrapped tightly around my waist.

Her heat was soothing against my back. Despite being a head taller than she was, we fit perfectly. Her lips mode slowly across the back of my neck for a moment, then she squeezed me.

We didn't need words. This night, we didn't want or even need sex. This embrace was enough, and would last the night.
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Old 03-31-2012, 06:02 PM   #111
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Sirloin Strips

When that car stopped he could hardly believe it. Cherry red, Two door Mustang. Least as old as he was. It shimmered in the heat, it's the single strip of white off the door a shocking contrast to the rest of the world around it.

Desert. Heat. And highway as far as the eye could see. Not even the interstate just bad chipped two lane blacktop gone grey. Alone, and stuck in Nevada, a hundred miles from no where. Alone but for the sun, the sand, and the knowledge of sin.

The door opened and a smooth thigh came out of it, the perfect kind of sculpted femininity that lead a man into trouble. Toned, supple, and gorgeous, the caramel colour of it making him think of all kinds of sweet treats.

"You drive."

She walked around the car out of his site, only the short bob of her hair, and the fierce smile on her face as she got into the passenger side and closed the door. He was dreaming. Gorgeous woman in the middle of nowhere and a car he'd pay money to drive, all showing up at the perfect place and time. maybe the idiot grin he had could be forgiven as he swung his lean body into the driver's seat and turned to his would be saviour.

"Drive" She growled at him, already reaching over the long comfortable couch style seating. Her hands busy on his belt, with the button of his jeans, unzipping the fly. He started to protest almost instantly. But it died on his lips as hers blew across his boxers.

"You are not driving." She was speaking again, moving his hands back to the steering wheel, instead of the kinky curls of her hair. "Here's the deal hitcher, You get as far down this road, as this shaft stays hard in my mouth. After I get what I want, you get shown to the curb. So if I were you, I'd drive fast."

Somehow, somewhere, somewhen, she had removed his hardening shaft from it's cloth prison, and her first hard stroke made him shiver, and tense, his foot pressing into the gas in effect revving both engines. "I am good at getting what I want." She swallowed him, whole. the stiffening shaft disappearing into her mouth, thick perfect lips sucking at the short hairs around his balls, while she changed the shifter from park to drive.

The engine squealed as much as him, and he frantically clutched and shifted into second, then third, feeling her work underneath him. Her technique improving her speed rising with the cars, His breath coming faster and faster as well. The perilous race, as his eyes closed on a deserted strip of highway. he chewed his lip, bit his tongue, did everything to hold out as he shifted into the highest gear, pressed his foot to flow, and with a deep moan, exploded, leaving everything behind in her mouth, as she hungrily drank it down.

The trip odometer read less than 10 miles. But she had got what she wanted. He stuttered as she reached across him, swallowed for a final time and opened the driver side door.

"Tasty. Get out."
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Old 04-01-2012, 08:19 PM   #112
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Walking in slowly. Barefoot. Head bowed. Cold. Dressed only in old weightlifting shorts.

I kneel. Happy and terrified. I tempted fate. But...

"I understand"

Last edited by chronicle_tenko : 04-01-2012 at 08:25 PM.
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Old 04-01-2012, 08:21 PM   #113
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Rules of the scene~

we use green until the scene is over.

this color.

AND...it takes as long as it takes.
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Old 04-01-2012, 08:25 PM   #114
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"I understand Alpha."

He stays kneeling, and bows his head. Letting the hair fall off to the let side. Neck bared. Body vulnerable. Hands in his lap.

"Where do you want me?"
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Old 04-01-2012, 08:29 PM   #115
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I enter quietly, carrying nothing. Wanting nothing. I see him there. Tall. Back straight, supple. Head bent. He looks worried. And yet, he is here. And that is good.

"I am glad you have come, darlin' boy. If I do something to hurt your dignity, say so. I may not stop, but I will change the words, the actions. This is a trial run. I shall put you through your paces...and you will bend for me, kneel for me and give me access to anything I want."

Silence as I step before him. One hand going to his hair, twining through the locks, using it to force his head up, to make him look at me.

"In return? I will show you the parts of me most people have never had the pleasure of meeting, either here or in the Real World."

Hand releases hair, body steps back, away. Voice whispers.

"The shorts are not needed. Stand up. Lose them. Then hands on the back of your neck, fingers laced. Legs spread shoulder distance apart, up on the balls of your feet."
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Old 04-01-2012, 08:41 PM   #116
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Mouth dry, and sweat on my brow. Gazing up at her. Just barely up. I nod, stand, and remove the shorts. All I was wearing anyway. Nude.

My body is a mass of muscle, scars, hair. For a moment the muscles flex, thighs tense, and calves coil like springs. The balls of my feet. I go them anyway, and my stomach tightens, till I am a single taut muscle. A snap and I will destroy whatever is in my path. Arms elbows, shoulders, Like points of a battering ram. Knees and shins. Clubs and cudgels. The song of breaking bones rushes through my blood.

My head returns to bowed from where she lifted it, her fist, it's grip still tugging at my scalp.

My hands interlock behind my neck. Captive. My feet shift in circles from a fighters stance to shoulder width. A soldier at ease. My soles still exposed, my body still tense. Anticipation. My chest fills with air, and easy muscle across it.

My voice betrays me, as it falls. Soft, defeated. Happier than it has any right to be.

"I Obey."
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Old 04-01-2012, 08:54 PM   #117
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He moves with lithe grace, but not nearly as fluidly as I would have expected. This particular game has gone on for far too long...and we have finally reached a beginning...of a sort.

With my kitty twin? There is a quickness. A flash of temper, smothered by fast slaps, bindings and breakings and nails and teeth. She understands my ways, she feels them and it works. For others that I have played with? It is slow and seductive and building up...until they fall apart under my hands.

He is a new thing.

And this is a new game.

So?


"Nice."

My voice is doing that thing. Husky, quiet. Precise. Alto verging toward tenor and smoky with it. I circle him, hands trailing lightly over battered, taut flesh. Nails scraping over

belly

thighs

ass

back

chest...

because he is so big compared to me and I love the way our flesh contrasts. I like how he holds himself, an explosion held in check. I like that he knows he will obey, at least right now, right here.

Slender fingers search for a toy...and a thin, leather strap comes easily to hand. Half inch wide, over a foot in length. Something to redden the skin I had just been caressing, stroking, scraping.


"We will work back to front...calves to shoulders...and then chest to groin. You will not move. If your feet fall, we will start over. If you moan, whimper, cry out? We will start over. If you take your eyes off of me when ever I am before you? We will start over. Understand?"
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Old 04-01-2012, 09:05 PM   #118
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I won't nod my head. It would disrupt my balance. And I want this perfect. She deserves perfect. I watch her, always. years of watching and following, discretely sometimes overtly. Have I truly been waiting this long?

I shake a single moment as the enormity of this hits me, and before I can help it give a soft almost unhearable moan. Then blush. Watching the leather in her hand. How much that will hurt. Not so much. Sting, and bring every bit of my flesh alive. I fight a hardness, and feel goosebumps wash over me. So breathlessly anticipating. Truly breathless.

'You are so beautiful I forget to breathe.' I want to say this. I almost do. But only the thick throaty gasp emerges.

"I understand."

"I am ready whenever you are."

Last edited by chronicle_tenko : 04-01-2012 at 09:09 PM.
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Old 04-01-2012, 09:23 PM   #119
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I hear that gasp, that moan. I see the goose flesh that walks his skin like thousands of ants on parade. I know then that he is terrified and flying high and it brings that smile to the forefront. The smile that says...

oh yes, let's begin right now.


"Good."

Hitting some one with a strap~ no matter how supple the leather, no matter how freely it swings~ is always an exercise in caution. Too hard and the pain becomes a dull throbbing thing. Too light and it only teases, doesn't pluck the nerve that makes men (and women) beg to be left alone.

It requires a deft hand and the ability to switch hit, especially when one is working with the amount of flesh I have to cover. So instead of debating it, thinking on it...I lean in...and brush a soft kiss just above his groin before meandering behind him, the leather strap swinging in my right hand.



"Brace your self"

Wrist rotates quickly and the strap flies out, the end snapping against the flesh of his left calf. Again. The strap connects the same way, right calf. A half step back, flattening the arc, so that the strap lands squarely~body of it over one calf, the end popping over the other one.

Changing the swing. Repeat. Half an inch higher. The kiss of the tail end over left calf then the right one before the arc flattens and covers both with one hit.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Each spot is touched twice. End one side, end the other side, flat and end~ together.

When one hand tires, I switch. And renew the assault. Slowly. Methodically. With care. Precision. Raising each strike a half an inch, or so, at a time.

Because he vexes me.

Because I waited.

Because I want to see his pale flesh turn cherry red. All over.

His body is trembling slightly. And I can feel him correct his stance, over and over.

But I am only at the small of his back...

and I am just getting started.
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Old 04-01-2012, 09:47 PM   #120
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"Brace your self"

The warning is welcome if unneeded. I have been waiting for this kiss for years. And I am still unprepared. My teeth grit the only thing that saves me from a strangled cry. The gasp dying in my mouth. A swallowed thing.

Then again, and again, and again. Precise. Perfect. Each placement and tapped twice. The tip. The flat. It would be unbearable. And my body cannot roll. Simply stand firm and taut. Breathe.

"Thank you."

Over and over. Each hot kiss of leather, prompts the mantra. Sincere. Wanting. readjusting my balance to present more of myself to her lash. It is so hard to resist the urge to present. To flatten my back and bend for her. To make a canvas board.

I snarl and tremble under her touch. The small of my back making my heels want to jump. Like a rock then. Waiting, my eyes glittering. Unable to fight the blood rushing through my body. My entire back sure to blush.

"Thank you"

My arms flex. And tighten. Stay hard, tense as a whip cord, and thicker than leather. Each hair on end.

"Alpha. Please move my hair to the front. I don't want it to tangle in your swings."
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Old 04-01-2012, 10:09 PM   #121
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Each spoken Thank You is a benediction, a blessing. A kiss. It becomes a rhythm that sucks me out of myself and pulls me into that space that means I become something more, something other. Something else. It feels like a homecoming.

The strap is snapping across flesh with a steady beat that pulls blood to his skin. It flushes. It blushes. It burns.


"Alpha. Please move my hair to the front. I don't want it to tangle in your swings."

I hadn't even paid attention to his hair...and I should have. No matter. The strap stills and one small hand raises, tangles, yanks. First backward, hard enough to jerk him slightly off balance and then forward as I move to his right side and toss the heavy weight of it over his shoulder, so that it dangles across his chest.

Now his back is unencumbered.

The game resumes.

I am concentrating now and there is a fierce joy in it...the joy of a woman being exactly as she was meant to be. A few experimental swings, to get the balance back and then I resume.

Left. Right. Both.

End. End. Both.

Soon, the strap rises and rises.

Soon, his back glows red and then redder.

And I am chortling to myself and happy.

Eventually, I run out of space. Eventually, I can not go any higher without hitting his hands or his arms.

I stop...and move around his straining form, to face him.


"Flat footed now."

Hand grabs his hair and tosses it back over his shoulder. Mouth grins, wicked, wide.

I begin, again.

An end kisses his chest. Right and then left. A lash is laid. Carefully. Carefully.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Each repetition causes the strap to lower. That small little incremental step. That half inch.

By the time I lay the last few kisses of leather upon his skin? My arms are tired and his skin appears sun burnt.

Lovely.

I step away from him, eyes locking with his own and aim the last lash right there...across the head of his male member.

One delicate, precise, sharp, stinging blow.


"Tell me...how do you feel?"
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Old 04-01-2012, 10:42 PM   #122
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I stumble. Hard, but my heels do not touch. I know I spoke out of turn, but better to risk that punishment than to toss us both to the ground. At least not without each others arms to catch us. I am ready for your brutal yank, but that does not mean my feet don't shift. My neck does not bend. And soon I am back. Rigid, stiff. Feet planted as your strap lays into me. The only thing that stops me from crying out is the breathless thanks, and the tear in my eye.

"Thank you"

Soon you are done, and my feet burning, scream for rest when you tell me I am able fall to my heels. If it were not a command I would stay. But to my feet I fall. And I make sure to watch you. The power of your arms. The quick precision as you rake my chest. The grit of my teeth, the inability to say thanks as you rake my nipples. Once then twice.

Gods.

I shiver, and the warming heat of the strap buoys me. Sweat drips into my eyes, and Still I watch you. The haze of salt brings tears, but in that haze you are even more of a goddess. Bigger than me. Faster. Stronger. I tower over you, and still I feel I need to look up as I watch you.

Your laughter makes me proud. Your smile makes me strong. When your lashes fall I grin, and thank you again and again, and again.

Finally as my cock bounces, and cries, hard and shuddering. The head burning as it leaves a sticky droplet of beginning on the strap. I hear you question. I start to answer and realise you have been holding my breath. Gripped tight in a leather strap.

"Alive. Afire, And glorious." I let my arms fall and they refuse to un tense. "Every inch of me wants you."
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Old 04-01-2012, 10:56 PM   #123
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scene paused due to time constraints. Will hopefully resume tomorrow.

Please feel free to make use of the cavern...but use a color other than dark green.
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Old 04-02-2012, 06:53 PM   #124
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Resumption

His words are a barely there growl~filled with need and greed and lust and wanting. The intensity of his emotions makes me smile. I can feel it~that little lift to my upper lip, the slight curve of the bottom one. He doesn't get it yet, not really, but he will.

I don't do this because I want to get to the end. I do this because I love the journey. I do this because I love the time it takes to learn and cajole and explore. I do this because it is what I am. What I do. I do this because sometimes, certain people deserve every bit of knowledge and control that I have to give.

He deserves it, all of it.

And I am just the Wolf to give it to him.


"You must breathe through the wanting, pretty boy. After all, patience is a virtue."

Laughter then. After all, he doesn't really understand what I am offering to him. He doesn't understand what this means, to me, to him. But he will, eventually. After all, I have no plans that can not be pushed aside. I have nothing else to do that is more vital than teaching him what patience and control...are.

Golden brown eyes trace his form, taking in his stance, the hardness of his cock, the way his arms dangle by his sides. I need to give him something else, but what? Finally, a light. Pain is not the whole of it. Not for me.

Sensation. Fear.

Those are the things we need to work out, next.

In the far corner of my cavern, a long, bare stone table appears. Steel link chains attach themselves, ending in restraints. A bowl of ice. A shiny pearl handled straight razor. A blind fold. I nod once and then return my gaze to his face, to his wide eyes.


"You will move to the table and lay down. Upon your back, if you please. Hands up in a comfortable position. Legs spread for ease of access. Eyes closed."
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Old 04-03-2012, 07:44 PM   #125
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I nod. Head bowed that slight increment, while all my muscles burn. While I can look at my body, taut, toughened. A prickle running through every leather licked inch, and in between. Like my body has been stitched back together. Was that your worst? More. Was that your best? I'll stand it twice, and see whose arms fall off first.

Competitive. Not simply the desire for her, but to be hers, be the best I can, and better than all before, and ever after. It's prideful, and perilous, this inflated confidence. That swell of my manhood, is nothing compared to the swell of my ego. Full to bursting, and whipped rampant by the flaming charging spirit of an uncontrolled Id.

"As you wish." The crack of a barely restrained boy, excited to please, and be pleased.

The crash is so much worse. But needed to be humble. I stumble taking the first step, and ache immeasurably come the second. the third is crisp, confident, strong, and by the time I lay across the the table I am grateful for how cool the stones are. It is sobering the reminder of what we can actually endure.

My hands splay long fingers stretched and then relaxed by my side, and as I spread my legs I feel a twitch of muscle from my own deflating member. Taking a deep shallow breath, I close my eyes.

"I am ready." And somehow despite the fear of chains, and Pearl-handled Razors. I know I am.

Last edited by chronicle_tenko : 04-03-2012 at 07:47 PM. Reason: Why is there no colour? Oh. Because Color has no U...
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